RAPHAEL. BY JOHN G. WHITTIER. I SHALL not soon forget that sight: The glow of Autumn's westering day, A hazy warmth, a dreamy light, On Raphael's picture lay. It was a simple print I saw, The fair face of a musing boy; Yet while I gazed a sense of awe Seemed blending with my joy. A simple print:-the graceful flow Yet through its sweet and calm repose It was as if before me rose The white veil of a shrine. As if, as Gothland's sage has told, Was it the lifting of that eye, The narrow room had vanished, Broad, luminous, remained alone, space Through which all hues and shapes of grace And beauty looked or shone. Around the mighty master came The marvels which his pencil wrought, There drooped thy more than mortal face, The rapt brow of the Desert John; And, midst gray prophet forms, and wild There Fornarina's fair young face |