IN THE PICTURE GALLERY
by: Henrik Ibsen
- ITH palette laden
- She sat, as I passed her,
- A dainty maiden
- Before an Old Master.
-
- What mountain-top is
- She bent upon? Ah,
- She neatly copies
- Murillo's Madonna.
-
- But rapt and brimming
- The eyes' full chalice says
- The heart builds dreaming
- Its fairy-palaces.
-
- * * *
-
- The eighteenth year rolled
- By, ere returning,
- I greeted the dear old
- Scenes with yearning.
-
- With palette laden
- She sat, as I passed her,
- A faded maiden
- Before an Old Master.
-
- But what is she doing?
- The same thing still--lo,
- Hotly pursuing
- That very Murillo!
-
- Her wrist never falters;
- It keeps her, that poor wrist,
- With panels for altars
- And daubs for the tourist.
-
- And so she has painted
- Through years unbrightened,
- Till hopes have fainted
- And hair has whitened.
-
- But rapt and brimming
- The eyes' full chalice says
- The heart builds dreaming
- Its fairy-palaces.
'In the Picture Gallery' was originally
written in 1859. This English translation by Fydell Edmund Garrett
is reprinted from the Westminster Gazette of July 17,
1903. |
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