Page:Bijou Almanacks.pdf/25



Yet on the haunted canvass dwells The beauty of that face, Which art’s departed master held His sweetest task to trace; None see it but are prisoners held In its strong toil of grace.

Nature, thy fairy godmother, Has lavished, for thy part, A prodigality of gifts To make thee what thou art; The lovely face, the gifted mind, The kind and generous heart.