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Rh

My power was but a woman’s power; Yet, in that great and glorious dower Which Genius gives, I had my part: I poured my full and burning heart In song, and on the canvass made My dreams of beauty visible; I knew not which I loved the most— Pencil or lute,—both loved so well. Oh, yet my pulse throbs to recall, When first upon the gallery’s wall Picture of mine was placed, to share Wonder and praise from each one there. Sad were my shades; methinks they had Almost a tone of prophecy— I ever had, from earliest youth, A feeling what my fate would be.