Blest be Love to whom we owe

All that's fair and bright below.

His hand had pictured many a rose

  And sketched the rays that light the brook;

But what were these or what were those

  To woman's blush, to woman's look?

"Oh, if such magic power there be,

  "This, this," he cried, "is all my prayer,

"To paint that living light I see

  "And fix the soul that sparkles there."

His prayer as soon as breathed was heard;

  His pallet touched by Love grew warm,

And Painting saw her hues transferred

  From lifeless flowers to woman's form.

Still as from tint to tint he stole,

  The fair design shone out the more,

And there was now a life, a soul,

  Where only colors glowed before.

Then first carnations learned to speak

  And lilies into life were brought;

While mantling on the maiden's cheek

  Young roses kindled into thought.

Then hyacinths their darkest dyes

  Upon the locks of Beauty threw;

And violets transformed to eyes

  Inshrined a soul within their blue.