The wall is silence, the grass is sleep, Tall trees of peace their vigil keep, And the Fairy of Dreams with moth-wings furled. Plays soft on her flute to the drowsy world.
There is something magical in seeing what you can do, what texture and tone and colour you can produce merely with a pen point and a bottle of ink.
Then clear on a flute of purest gold A sweet little fairy played. And wonderful fairy tales she told and marvelous music made.
I just had to plod along without having any teaching, which was a pity.
I should have been a much better artist if I could have studied more and amused myself less.
I used to find great difficulty in drawing feet.
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