THERE'S a beautiful Artist abroad in the world,
And her pencil is dipped in heaven,—
The gorgeous hues of Italian skies,
The radiant sunset's richest dyes,
The light of Aurora's laughing eyes,
Are each to her pictures given.
As I walked abroad yestere'en, what time
The sunset was fairest to see,
I saw her wonderful brush had been
Over a maple tree—half of it green—