TO show the labring bosoms deep intent, And thought in living characters to paint, When first thy pencil did those beauties give, And breathing figures learnt from thee to live, How did those prespects give my soul delight, A new creation rushing on my sight? Still, wondrous youth! each noble path pursue, On deathless glories fix thine ardent view: Still may the painters and the poets fire To aid thy pencil, and thy verse conspire! And may the charms of each seraphic theme Conduct thy footsteps to immortal fame! High to the blissful wonders of the skies Elate thy soul, and raise thy wishful eyes. Thrice happy, when exalted to survey That splendid city, crownd with endless day, Whose twice six gates on radiant hinges ring: Celestial Salem blooms in endless spring. Calm and serene thy moments glide along, And may the muse inspire each future song! Still, with the sweets of contemplation blessd, May peace with balmy wings your soul invest! But when these shades of time are chasd away, And darkness ends in everlasting day, On what seraphic pinions shall we move, And view the landscapes in the realms above? There shall thy tongue in heavnly murmurs flow, And there my muse with heavnly transport glow: No more to tell of Damons tender sighs, Or rising radiance of Auroras eyes, For nobler themes demand a nobler strain, And purer language on th ethereal plain. Cease, gentle muse! the solemn gloom of night Now seals the fair creation from my sight. Rita Dove Biography More poems by this author Poem of the Day: To S. M. A Young African Painter, On Seeing His Works Posted:Fri, 22 Nov 2013 00:00:00 -0600
Posted on: Thu, 05 Dec 2013 04:39:44 +0000
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