14
MY PICTURES.
If a simple, humble heartSeem to thee a meaner partThan thy noblest aim and art;
If he bid thee bow beforeCrowned Mind and nothing more,The great idol men adore;
And with starry veil enfoldSin, the trailing serpent old,Till his scales shine out like gold;
Though his words seem true and wise,Soul, I say to thee, Arise,He is a Demon in disguise!
MY PICTURE.
TAND this way—more near the window— By my desk—you see the lightFalling on my picture better— Thus I see it while I write!Who the head may be I know not, But it has a student air;With a look half sad, half stately, Grave sweet eyes and flowing hair.
