Why did I sketch an upland green,
        And put the figure in
        Of one on the spot with me? -
For now that one has ceased to be seen
        The picture waxes akin
        To a wordless irony.

If you go drawing on down or cliff
        Let no soft curves intrude
        Of a woman's silhouette,
But show the escarpments stark and stiff
        As in utter solitude;
        So shall you half forget.

Let me sooner pass from sight of the sky
        Than again on a thoughtless day
        Limn, laugh, and sing, and rhyme
With a woman sitting near, whom I
Paint in for love, and who may
        Be called hence in my time!

From an old note.