HIS sheep went idly over the hills, -- Idly down and up, -- As he sat and painted his sweetheart's face On a little ivory cup. All round him roses lay in the grass That were hardly out of buds; For sake of her mouth and cheek, I knew He had murdered them in the woods. The ant, that good little housekeeper, Was not at work so hard; And yet the semblance of a smile Was all of his reward: And the golden-belted gentleman That travels in the air, Hummed not so sweet to the clover-buds As he to his picture there. The while for his ivory cup he made An easel of his knee, And painted his little sweetheart's face Truly and tenderly. Thus we are marking on all our work Whatever we have of grace; As the rustic painted his ivory cup With his little sweetheart's face. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE DREAM by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE DEVIL'S WALK [ON EARTH] by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE TO A CATY-DID by PHILIP FRENEAU THE ILIAD: ACHILLES OVER THE TRENCH by HOMER SALLY SIMKIN'S LAMENT by THOMAS HOOD MORITURI SALUTAMUS [WE WHO ARE TO DIE SALUTE YOU] by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |