Gifts

Reginal Gray

The Manteau Rouge

Gifts

You ask me what since we must part

You shall bring back to me.

Bring back a pure and faithful heart

As true as mine to thee.

You talk of gems from foreign lands,

Of treasure, spoil, and prize.

Ah love! I shall not search your hands

But look into your eyes.

~ Juliana Horatia Ewing ~

There Was a Child Went Forth

Eastman Johnson

The Savoyard Boy

There Was a Child Went Forth

There was a child went forth every day;

And the first object he look’d upon, that object he became;

And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.

The early lilacs became part of this child,

And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird,

And the Third-month lambs, and the sow’s pink-faint litter, and the mare’s foal, and the cow’s calf,

And the noisy brood of the barn-yard, or by the mire of the pond-side,

And the fish suspending themselves so curiously below there—and the beautiful curious liquid,

And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads—all became part of him.

The field-sprouts of Fourth-month and Fifth-month became part of him;

Winter-grain sprouts, and those of the light-yellow corn, and the esculent roots of the garden,

And the apple-trees cover’d with blossoms, and the fruit afterward, and wood-berries, and the commonest weeds by the road;

And the old drunkard staggering home from the out-house of the tavern, whence he had lately risen,

And the school-mistress that pass’d on her way to the school,

And the friendly boys that pass’d—and the quarrelsome boys,

And the tidy and fresh-cheek’d girls—and the barefoot negro boy and girl,

And all the changes of city and country, wherever he went.

His own parents,

He that had father’d him, and she that had conceiv’d him in her womb, and birth’d him,

They gave this child more of themselves than that;

They gave him afterward every day—they became part of him.

The mother at home, quietly placing the dishes on the supper-table;

The mother with mild words—clean her cap and gown, a wholesome odor falling off her person and clothes as she walks by;

The father, strong, self-sufficient, manly, mean, anger’d, unjust;

The blow, the quick loud word, the tight bargain, the crafty lure,

The family usages, the language, the company, the furniture—the yearning and swelling heart,

Affection that will not be gainsay’d—the sense of what is real—the thought if, after all, it should prove unreal,

The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time—the curious whether and how,

Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and specks?

Men and women crowding fast in the streets—if they are not flashes and specks, what are they?The streets themselves, and the façades of houses, and goods in the windows,

Vehicles, teams, the heavy-plank’d wharves—the huge crossing at the ferries,

The village on the highland, seen from afar at sunset—the river between,

Shadows, aureola and mist, the light falling on roofs and gables of white or brown, three miles off,

The schooner near by, sleepily dropping down the tide—the little boat slack-tow’d astern,

The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping,

The strata of color’d clouds, the long bar of maroon-tint, away solitary by itself—the spread of purity it lies motionless in,

The horizon’s edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt marsh and shore mud;

These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day.

~ Walt Whitman ~

In every dream the lovely features rise

Julio Romero de Torres

Mira Que Bonita Era

In every dream the lovely features rise

In every dream the lovely features rise;

I see them in the sunshine of the day;

Thy form is flitting still before my eyes

Where'er at eve I tread my lonely way;

In every moaning wind I hear thee say

Sweet words of consolation, while thee sighs

Seem borne along on every blast that flies;

I live, I talk with thee where'er I stray:

And yet thou never more shalt come to me

On earth, for though art in a world of bliss,

And fairer still - if fairer thou canst be -

Than when thou bloomed'st for a while in this.

Few be my days of loneliness and pain

Until I meet in love with thee again.

~ William Barnes ~

You And I

Jean Honore Fragonard

The Stolen Kiss

You And I

My hand is lonely for your clasping, dear;

My ear is tired for waiting for your call.

I want your strength to help, your laugh to cheer;

Heart, soul and senses need you, one and all.

I droop without your full, frank sympathy;

We ought to be together - you and I;

We want each other so, to comprehend

The dream, the hope, things planned, or seen, or wrought.

Companion, comforter and guide and friend,

As much as love asks love, does thought ask thought.

We ought to be together, you and I.

~ Henry Alford ~

Pictures in the Smoke

Philip Evergood

Turmoil

Pictures in the Smoke

Oh, gallant was the first love, and glittering and fine;

The second love was water, in a clear white cup;

The third love was his, and the fourth was mine;

And after that, I always get them all mixed up.

~ Dorothy Parker ~

The Rose Family

Frank Cowper

Vanity

The Rose Family

The rose is a rose,

And was always a rose.

But now the theory goes

That the apple's a rose,

And the pear is, and so's

The plum, I suppose.

The dear only knows

What will next prove a rose.

You, of course, are a rose--

But were always a rose.

~ Robert Frost ~

The Jewels

Amedeo Modigliani

Nude with a Necklace

The Jewels

My well-beloved was stripped. Knowing my whim,

She wore her tinkling gems, but naught besides:

And showed such pride as, while her luck betides,

A sultan's favoured slave may show to him.

When it lets off its lively, crackling sound,

This blazing blend of metal crossed with stone,

Gives me an ecstasy I've only known

Where league of sound and luster can be found.

She let herself be loved: then, drowsy-eyed,

Smiled down from her high couch in languid ease.

My love was deep and gentle as the seas

And rose to her as to a cliff the tide.

My own approval of each dreamy pose,

Like a tamed tiger, cunningly she sighted:

And candour, with lubricity united,

Gave piquancy to every one she chose.

Her limbs and hips, burnished with changing lustres,

Before my eyes clairvoyant and serene,

Swanned themselves, undulating in their sheen;

Her breasts and belly, of my vine and clusters,

Like evil angels rose, my fancy twitting,

To kill the peace which over me she'd thrown,

And to disturb her from the crystal throne

Where, calm and solitary, she was sitting.

So swerved her pelvis that, in one design,

Antiope's white rump it seemed to graft

To a boy's torso, merging fore and aft.

The talc on her brown tan seemed half-divine.

The lamp resigned its dying flame. Within,

The hearth alone lit up the darkened air,

And every time it sighed a crimson flare

It drowned in blood that amber-coloured skin.

~ Charles Baudelaire ~

The Courtship

Felix Labisse

Histoire Naturelle: l’Amante Religieuse

The Courtship

I am curiously stirred

by the landscape

as I wait lazily for

my lover

lazily in the hot sun

no hurry

life goes on

time to admire

my long thin arms

they blend with

the long thin grass

their frailty is deceptive

my lover will not be the first

to know their strength

strange to consider

how small he always is

true, he moves gracefully

but never quick enough

when he is joined to me

too absorbed to notice

my knife-like grip

I will eat him inch by inch

I'll not need another meal for hours

afterwards I will sit quietly

under the exotic leaves

raising my arms againas if praying.

~ Anne Beresford ~

Love's Secret

Paul Delvaux

Pygmalion

Love's Secret

Never seek to tell thy love,

Love that never told can be;

For the gentle wind does move

Silently, invisibly.

I told my love, I told my love,

I told her all my heart;

Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears,

Ah! she did depart!

Soon as she was gone from me,

A traveler came by,

Silently, invisibly

He took her with a sigh.

~ William Blake ~

When We Last Parted

Alfredo Castañeda

Our Years

When We Last Parted

When we last parted, thou wert young and fair,

How beautiful let fond rememberance say!

Alas! since then old time has stolen away

Full thirty years, leaving my temples bare.-

So has it perished like a thing of air,

The dream of love and youth!-now both are grey

Yet still remembering that delightful day,

Though time with his cold touch has blanched my hair,

Though I may have suffered many years of pain

Since then, though I did never think to live

To hear that voice or see those eyes again,

I can sad but cordial greeting give,

And for thy welfare breathe a warm prayer-

As when I loved thee young and fair.

~ Catherine Maria Fanshawe ~

Of Beauty

Lovis Corinth

Old Man in Armor

Of Beauty

Let us use it while we may

Snatch those joys that haste away!

Earth her winter coat may cast,

And renew her beauty past:

But, our winter come, in vain

We solicit spring again;

And when our furrows snow shall cover,

Love may return but never lover.

~ Sir Richard Fanshawe ~

Song

August Macke

Farmboy From Tegernsee

Song

Why Damon, why, why, why so pressing?

The Heart you beg's not worth possessing:

Each Look, each Word, each Smile's affected,

And inward Charms are quite neglected:

Then scorn her, scorn her, foolish Swain,

And sigh no more, no more in vain.

Beauty's worthless, fading, flying;

Who would for Trifles think of dying?

Who for a Face, a Shape, wou'd languish,

And tell the Brooks, and Groves his Anguish,

Till she, till she thinks fit to prize him,

And all, and all beside despise him?

Fix, fix your Thoughs on what's inviting,

On what will never bear the slighting:

Wit and Virtue claim your Duty,

They're much more worth that Gold and Beauty:

To them, to them, your Heart resign,

And you'll no more, no more repine.

~ Mary Chudleigh ~

Villeggiature

Edouard Vuillard

The Sunny Room

Villeggiature

My window, framed in pear-tree bloom,

White-curtained shone, and softly lighted:

So, by the pear-tree, to my room

Your ghost last night climbed uninvited.

Your solid self, long leagues away,

Deep in dull books, had hardly missed me;

And yet you found this Romeo's way,

And through the blossom climbed and kissed me.

I watched the still and dewy lawn,

The pear-tree boughs hung white above you;

I listened to you till the dawn,

And half forgot I did not love you.

Od, dear! what pretty things you said,

What pearls of song you threaded for me!

I did not-till your ghost had fled-

Remember how you always bore me!

~ Edith Nesbit ~

Oh, No-Not Ev'n When First We Lov'd

Arnold Böcklin
Boy and Girl Picking Flowers

Peder Serverin Kroyer
Wedding Portrait

Charles Angrand

Couple in the Street

Oh, No-Not Ev'n When First We Lov'd

Oh, no-not ev'n when first we lov'd

Wert thou as dear as now thou art;

Thy beauty then my senses mov'd,

But now my virtues bind my heart,

What was but Passion's sigh before

Has since been turn'd to Reason's vow;

And, though I then might love thee more,

Trust me, I love thee better now.

Although my heart in earlier youth

Might kindle with more wild desire,

Believe me, it has gain'd in truth

Much more than it has lost in fire.

The flame now warms my inmost core

That then but sparkled o'er my brow,

And though I seem'd to love thee more,

Yet, oh, I love thee better now.

~ Thomas Moore ~