With too much comfort? So! let the cool air
Play with thy curls and fan the plump, hot cheek.
Raphael. Hold, as the child uplifts his cherub face,
Opens his soft small arms to stroke thy cheek,
Crowing with glee, while the slant sunbeams light
A halo of gold fire about thy hair,
I see again a canvas that is hung
Over the altar in our church at home.
"Mater amabilis," yet here be traits,
Colors and tones the artist never dreamed.