And since he did not work thus earnestly
At all times, and has else endured some wrong—
I took one thought his picture struck from me,
And spread it out, translating it to song.
My love is here. Where are you, dear old friend?
How rolls the Wairoa at your world’s far end?
This is Ancona, yonder is the sea.
“The Guardian Angel” is given as a slight specimen of an important
class, dealing with painting and painters. In the lovely poem, “One Word
More,” Browning disclaims all ability to paint; but no one could have a
more exquisite appreciation of the art.
Has the tender pathos of these verses ever been surpassed? The calm of
heaven is in this thought spread out—translated into song. Let it be
read in connection with Spenser’s exquisite lines, beginning “And is
there care in heaven?”
“Alfred, dear friend,” is Mr. Alfred Domett, who was then Prime Minister
of New Zealand, at which far end of the world the Wairoa rolls to the
sea.
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