art:
Only prayer breaks the silence of the shrine
While, blackening in the daily candle-smoke,
They moulder on the damp wall's travertine,
'Mid echoes the light footstep never woke.
So, die my pictures! surely, gently die!
O youth, men praise so,--holds their praise its worth? {70}
Blown harshly, keeps the trump its golden cry?
Tastes sweet the water with such specks of earth?

--
3. ah, thought which saddens while it soothes: the thought
saddens him that he has not realized his capabilities,
and soothes him that he has resisted the temptations to earthly fame,
and been true to his soul.

14-22. he could have expressed Hope, Rapture, Confidence,
and all other passions, in the human face, each clear proclaimed
without a tongue.

23. hath it spilt, my cup?: the cup of his memory.

24. What did ye give me that I have not saved?: he has retained
all the impressions he has received from human faces.

25 et seq.: Nor will I say I have not dreamed (how well
I have dreamed!) of going forth in each new picture, as it went
to Pope or Kaiser, etc., making new hearts beat and bosoms swell.

34. the star not yet distinct above his hair: his fame not having yet
shone brightly out; "his" refers to "youth".

35. lie learning: and should lie.

41. But a voice changed it: the voice of his secret soul.

67. travertine: coating of lime; properly a limestone.
Lat., `lapis Tiburtinus', found near Tibur, now Tivoli.

Andrea del Sarto.

{Called "The Faultless Painter".}

But do not let us quarrel any more,
No, my Lucrezia! bear with me for once:
Sit down and all shall happen as you wish.
You turn your face, but does it bring your heart?
I'll work then for your friend's friend, never fear,
Treat his own subject after his own way,
Fix his own time, accept too his own price,
And shut the money into this small hand
When next it takes mine. Will it? tenderly?
Oh, I'll content him,--but to-morrow, Love! {10}
I often am much wearier than you think,
This evening more than usual: and it seems
As if--forgive now--should you let me sit
Here by the window, with your hand in mine,
And look a half hour forth on Fiesole,
Both of one mind, as married people use,
Quietly, quietly the evening through,
I might get up to-morrow to my work
Cheerful and fresh as ever. Let us try.