OH happy painter! you who stayed In spirit ever undismayed; Serene you saw those distant hills Whose blue relief your canvas fills. In softest green of early spring, Your slender trees are blossoming Beneath that light of other days, So dear to you in Umbrian ways. Alike, your saints and sinners wear A sweet, detached, unworldly air; Life gave you little to repent, And thus you painted life, content. |