The Artist and the Art.

Now that the snows must melt and herbs revive
and rainbow shows aloft its hidden gold,

palette, brush and paint must come alive
in new magnificence vying with the old.

Seeking the bold achievement where he will

with truths holy lamp, source of bright and deep,
spreading dark and light with brush and quill
colours in silence with unfettered sweep.

Spared by fire and blood and turning sands

from death, the memory of the brave and wise,
nor injured more by touch of meddling hands
yet glorious art the power of time defies.

And all forbidden seeds must shed their pods

or enslave whole nations on their native soil
weakness of the great, folly of the gods
must be avoided; purest pigment, holy oil.

A spot of golden sunshine fixed in space

or softly stealing into modest shade,
The drooping mind of absence can erase
names once heard and prayers no longer prayed.

And gallery's sumptuous doors spread wide at morn,

with heart and mind the charmed spectator spies
under soft cerulean sky an ear of corn,
by night bare floors see portraits of the skies.

( from a memorials of a tour in Italy ) 

Ramble at Evening.(from the Cuckoo at Laverna)

Although invisible as Echo's self

often I've heard the nightingale and thrush,

Far off and faint and melting into air,

Cooling throats, sweet dew from hawthorn bush.

From vale to hill, flower after flower has blown

blending within a common English grove,

Embellishing the ground that gave them birth,

savouring earth born joys, sampling her treasure trove.

By unsought means for gracious purposes,

where spring her richest blossoms did display,

and every shape of nature is sustained

strange and familiar, might beguile the day.

Divine affections as with beast and bird

so pure, so fraught with knowledge and delight,

Till dusk descending upon hill and vale

summons the moon, pale candle of the night.