  Written on receiving a painting of the Isle Isle of beauty, thou art singing [20] To my sense a sweet refrain; To my busy mem'ry bringing Scenes that I would see again. Chief, the charm of thy reflecting, [1] Is the moral that it brings; Nature, with the mind connecting, Gives the artist's fancy wings. Soul, sublime 'mid human dÉbris, [5] Paints the limner's work, I ween, Art and Science, all unweary, Lighting up this mortal dream. Work ill-done within the misty Mine of human thoughts, we see [10] Soon abandoned when the Master Crowns life's Cliff for such as we. Students wise, he maketh now thus Those who fish in waters deep, When the buried Master hails us [15] From the shores afar, complete. Art hath bathed this isthmus-lordling In a beauty strong and meek As the rock, whose upward tending Points the plane of power to seek. [20] Isle of beauty, thou art teaching Lessons long and grand, to-night, To my heart that would be bleaching To thy whiteness, Cliff of Wight. |
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