Before a Painting

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Before a Painting

I knew not who had wrought with skill so fine

What I beheld; nor by what laws of art

He had created life and love and heart

On canvas, from mere color, curve and line.

Silent I stood and made no move or sign;

Not with the crowd, but reverently apart;

Nor felt the power my rooted limbs to start,

But mutely gazed upon that face divine.

And over me the sense of beauty fell,

As music over a raptured listener to

The deep-voiced organ breathing out a hymn;

Or as on one who kneels, his beads to tell,

There falls the aureate glory filtered through

The windows in some old cathedral dim.