mona lisa painting

mona lisa painting
her features: he lifts it, bends lower; now his eyes anticipate the
vision of beauty- warm, and blooming, and lovely, in rest. How hurried
was their first glance! But how they fix! How he starts! How he
suddenly and vehemently clasps in both arms the form he dared not, a
moment since, touch with his finger! How he calls aloud a name, and
drops his burden, and gazes on it wildly! He thus grasps and cries,
and gazes, because he no longer fears to waken by any sound he can
utter- by any movement he can make. He thought his love slept sweetly:
he finds she is stone dead.
I looked with timorous joy towards a stately house: I saw a
mona lisa painting
blackened ruin.
No need to cower behind a gate-post, indeed!- to peep up at chamber
lattices, fearing life was astir behind them! No need to listen for
doors opening- to fancy steps on the pavement or the gravel-walk!
The lawn, the grounds were trodden and waste: the portal yawned
void. The front was, as I had once seen it in a dream, but a
shell-like wall, very high and very fragile-looking, perforated with
paneless windows: no roof, no battlements, no chimneys- all had
crashed in.
mona lisa painting