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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420063" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>In the National Gallery</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here, in the pale light of a winter’s day<br>I entered with a sketch pad in my hand.<br>I never dreamed that I’d encounter you-<br>To sketch out some old master was my plan.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Was it your eyes that first seduced me near, <br>or those cherry lips that I would never taste? <br>Two centuries past you were a beauty, dear.<br>Now, all but this image, time has lain to waste. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I envy him who painted you in camera, <br>together in your sitting room alone.<br>Who knows just how the session was concluded<br>If your old and senile husband wasn’t home? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I’m cast here in the role of a voyeur, <br>I haven’t even tried to draw a line.<br>Your dress of silk reveals just one bare shoulder, <br>Your eyes, the promise of a night divine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+F.+McCullagh">John F. McCullagh</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420063" data-title="In the National Gallery de John F. McCullagh" data-description="Here, in the pale light of a winter’s day
I entered with a sketch pad in my hand.
I never dreamed that I’d encounter you-
To sketch out some old master was my plan.

Was it your eyes that first seduced me near, 
or those cherry lips that I wou..."></div>
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