James Weldon Johnson

(1871-1938 / Florida/United States)

Before a Painting


I knew not who had wrought with skill so fine
What I beheld; nor by what laws of art
He had created life and love and heart
On canvas, from mere color, curve and line.
Silent I stood and made no move or sign;
Not with the crowd, but reverently apart;
Nor felt the power my rooted limbs to start,
But mutely gazed upon that face divine.

And over me the sense of beauty fell,
As music over a raptured listener to
The deep-voiced organ breathing out a hymn;
Or as on one who kneels, his beads to tell,
There falls the aureate glory filtered through
The windows in some old cathedral dim.

Submitted: Friday, April 02, 2010

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Before a Painting by James Weldon Johnson )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Under the Tamaring Tree (St. Patrick's A.., Leonard Dabydeen
  2. Prime Truth - 83, Pranab K. Chakraborty
  3. Prime Truth - 82, Pranab K. Chakraborty
  4. Directors Are Cap Off Scot-Free, Terence G. Craddock
  5. Prime Truth - 81, Pranab K. Chakraborty
  6. Relation is by woman, Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
  7. life without you, kiranjot kaur thiara
  8. Tantrayana philosophy, Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
  9. just hoping & wishing, kiranjot kaur thiara
  10. The Storm Comes, Greg Davidson

Poem of the Day

poet Wilfred Owen

All sounds have been as music to my listening:
Pacific lamentations of slow bells,
The crunch of boots on blue snow rosy-glistening,
Shuffle of autumn leaves; and all farewells:

...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]