What Works Of Art And Tender Love (To John Constable) Poem by ANDREW BLAKEMORE

What works of art and tender love
That touch my soul so deeply now,
And yield a sense of peace and calm
Whene'er I look and see,
For every stroke so bold and true
Adorned each waiting canvas there,
With greatness and the tales they tell
Shall always speak to me.

Those scenes of noble England green
And of its wondrous countryside,
The meadows and the fields of corn
Within the land so fair,
Amidst the views that have no end
So one can almost feel the breeze,
And hear the rustle of the leaves
As if you too were there.

With rivers and those silver streams
That yield a joy where' ere they flow,
Reflections cast upon the lakes
And colours rich with hue,
They shall survive undimmed by time
Beyond a thousand years or more,
So all who seek will marvel then
And give their praise to you.

For every soul shall look upon
Your works with everlasting joy,
And see those skies of deepest blue
With clouds of light and shade,
As if a dream and yet so clear
While shadows rest upon the ground,
The sun will shine for evermore
And never dull nor fade.