painter - Popular Poems and stories from category

After two sittings, now our Lady State To end her picture does the third time wait
But ere thou fall'st to work, first,
Painter, see If't ben't too slight grown or too hard for thee
Canst thou paint without colors

I know that he told how I snared his soul With a snare which bled him to death
And all the men loved him,
And most of the women pitied him
But suppose you are really a lady, and have delicate tastes,