Poems; with introdby Richard Garnett and illusby Byam Shaw . 11 content him,—but to-morrow. Love!I often am much wearier than you evening more than usual, and it seemsAs if—forgive now—should you let me sitHere by the window with your hand in mineAnd look a half hour forth on Fiesole,Both of one mind, as married people , quietly, the evening through,I might get up to-morrow to my workCheerful and fresh as ever. Let us how you shall be glad for this Your soft hand is a woman of mine the mans bared breast she curls count the time lost, e
Poems; with introdby Richard Garnett and illusby Byam Shaw . 11 content him,—but to-morrow. Love!I often am much wearier than you evening more than usual, and it seemsAs if—forgive now—should you let me sitHere by the window with your hand in mineAnd look a half hour forth on Fiesole,Both of one mind, as married people , quietly, the evening through,I might get up to-morrow to my workCheerful and fresh as ever. Let us how you shall be glad for this Your soft hand is a woman of mine the mans bared breast she curls count the time lost, either ; you must serveFor each of the five pictures we require—It saves a model. So ! keep looking so—My serpentining beauty, rounds on rounds !—How could you ever prick those perfect ears,Even to put the pearl there! oh, so sweet—My face, my moon, my everybodys moon,Which everybody looks on and calls , I suppose, is looked on by in she looks—no ones : very dear, no less !-You smile ? why, theres my picture ready made. 290. U\ II ANDREA DEL SARTO Theres what we painters call our harmony i A common greyness silvers everything,— All in a twilight, you and I alike —You, at the point of your first pride in me (Thats gone you know),—-but I, at every point, My youth, my hope, my art, being all toned down To yonder sober pleasant Fiesole. Theres the bell clinking from the chapel-top; That length of convent-wall across the way Holds the trees safer, huddled more inside ; The last monk leaves the garden ; days decrease And autumn grows, autumn in everything. Eh ? the whole seems to fall into a shape As if I saw alike my work and self And all that I was born to be and do, A twilight-piece. Love, we are in Gods hand. How strange now, looks the life he makes us lead! So free we seem, so fettered fast we are: I feel he laid the fetter : let it lie ! This chamber for example—turn your head— All thats behind us ! you dont understand Nor care to unde
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