|acrylic on canvas, 11x14 inches. 2011, painting
substantially revised, 2015
Oh,there is something, something dear to me,
Sweet, inexpressible-too far and fine
To be put down in phrases. It may be
The half return of some lost love divine
Which I half grasp again. I do not know,
But something finds me through the spring night
That is not of this earth-that seems to go
Straight to my inmost heart, and finding there
Some hidden string, quick to the touch, it plays
A strain unknown to me; but when I hear,
Some sacred semblance of departed days.
Lifts all my trembling spirit in a tear:
Perhaps, unthought, divineness lingers yet
Within the soul, that wakes but with regret.
Robert Burns Wilson, 1887
|As the painting originally appeared in 2011.