I Love to Write Poetry
[b]Op. 46[/b]
When first that image I beheld, my heart
Begged all powers for the moment, the chance
To see her motions, and the lively art -
That wondrous scene of watching statues dance.
Those eyes, those nebulae which arabesque
Through Nature's dreams - and Man's, the fleeting sight -
To see her dwell in landscapes picturesque
And walk their paths conceived of parted light.
And she, the vivid, flows forth as a stream
In cloths of silk and vestments plush as down -
In hues my heart has never before seen
And emollient atmospheres as her crown.
In minds, still frames will fade to distant blurs.
In still frames, my heart is entwined with hers.
- © [i]PaperHeart, 2016[/i]
When first that image I beheld, my heart
Begged all powers for the moment, the chance
To see her motions, and the lively art -
That wondrous scene of watching statues dance.
Those eyes, those nebulae which arabesque
Through Nature's dreams - and Man's, the fleeting sight -
To see her dwell in landscapes picturesque
And walk their paths conceived of parted light.
And she, the vivid, flows forth as a stream
In cloths of silk and vestments plush as down -
In hues my heart has never before seen
And emollient atmospheres as her crown.
In minds, still frames will fade to distant blurs.
In still frames, my heart is entwined with hers.
- © [i]PaperHeart, 2016[/i]
