Durand

Upon his canvas Nature starts to life,
Clear waters flow, majestic trees arise, --
The earth and air with beauty's shapes are rife,
And over all there bend his glorious skies.

Yes, this is Nature -- living, breathing, warm,
Ere yet her face the blight and storm have crossed;
Yes, this is Nature, in that radiant form
She wore of old, ere Paradise was lost.

poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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