Classic Poem

I know 'tis vain ye mountains, and ye woods,
To strive to match your wild, and wondrous hues,
Ye rocks and lakes, and ever rolling floods,
Gold-cinctur'd eve, or morn begemm'd with dews —

Yes, day by day & year by year Ive toild
In the lone chamber, and the sunny field
To match your beauty; but I have been foil'd:
I cannot conquer; but I will not yield —

How oft have I, where spread the pictur'd scene
Wrought on the canvas with fond, anxious care,
Deem'd I had equalled Natures, forests green,
Her lakes, her rocks, and e'en the ambient air.

Vain unpious thought! such feverish fancies sweep
Swift from the brain — when Nature's landscapes break
Upon the thrilling sense — O I could weep
Not that she is so beautiful; but I so weak —

O! for a power to snatch the living light
From heaven, & darkness from some deep abyss,
Made palpable: with skill to mingle right
Their mystery of beauty! then mine would be bliss!