THEY called him angel brother, for his smile Was amiable like angels, and he loved To paint them ever on the convent walls; Even in his very cell he made them sing And praise and weep Lord Jesus and the Maid, While all his fellow monks looked raptly on. No wage he took for work, and ne'er began To paint an angel till he breathed a prayer; And by that prayer and from that dreaming hand Came pictures tremulous with worshiping, Till all beholding them are fain to say: "Angelico, the artist, loved what things Are high and holy, and his tender soul Shines through his colors and his saintly forms, And shows to men a half-forgotten heaven." The flower-like name of Florence sounds twice fair Because he worked within her walls of fame; And on the heights of far Fiesole Floats like a Presence his so pure renown. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PSALM 139 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE STRING AROUND MY FINGER by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD THOUGHTS AFTER VIRGIL by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB ON THE DEATH OF SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR by ROBERT BURNS RICH, THOUGH POOR by ALICE CARY DEDICATION TO *** by JOHN CHALK CLARIS THE VAIN ADVICE by CATHERINE TROTTER COCKBURN A FRAGMENT FOUND IN A LECTURE-ROOM by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE |