A Flower-Piece by Fantin
Heart's ease or pansy, pleasure or thought,Which would the picture give us of these?Surely the heart that conceived it soughtHeart's ease.
Surely by glad and divine degreesThe heart impelling the hand that wroughtWrought comfort here for a soul's disease.
Deep flowers, with lustre and darkness fraught,From glass that gleams as the chill still seasLean and lend for a heart distraughtHeart's ease.
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