40
The Artist's Search for Beauty.
No look of Angela, though features fair
It had. And she was gone! Gone from his life!
The wailing child, in old Teresa's care,
Soothed not his grief, and all things he had loved
Were valueless. He wandered up and down
The rooms now void, for lack of one so dear.
His dreary studio, the marble form
Unfinished, only fired his heated brain
To madness. Weeks and months passed by,
His chisel idle. Then, in wild carouse,
He sought to drown remembrance of his grief.
One night he threw himself upon his bed,
In fitful slumber. In the darkened room,
A sudden radiance streamed of moonbeams pale,
And, in its light, his eyes, half-opened, saw
Strange forms and shapes, and, listening, he heard
Sweet melody and voices soft, and words:
It had. And she was gone! Gone from his life!
The wailing child, in old Teresa's care,
Soothed not his grief, and all things he had loved
Were valueless. He wandered up and down
The rooms now void, for lack of one so dear.
His dreary studio, the marble form
Unfinished, only fired his heated brain
To madness. Weeks and months passed by,
His chisel idle. Then, in wild carouse,
He sought to drown remembrance of his grief.
One night he threw himself upon his bed,
In fitful slumber. In the darkened room,
A sudden radiance streamed of moonbeams pale,
And, in its light, his eyes, half-opened, saw
Strange forms and shapes, and, listening, he heard
Sweet melody and voices soft, and words:
"Come away! come away!
Leave this froward child of clay!
Far from every care of earth,
Thy freed soul shall find new birth.
Leave him now! on his brow
Press thy lips, but do not wake him,
Leave this froward child of clay!
Far from every care of earth,
Thy freed soul shall find new birth.
Leave him now! on his brow
Press thy lips, but do not wake him,
