Ode to Mary Hiester Reid

by Duncan Sutherland Macorquodale Free from the thrall called life,  Palette and brush laid down;  Off with achievement’s strife,  Donned the immortal’s crown;  Yet hovers she near ’neath the Wychwood tree,  This, the roses she painted, tell to me. Knelt not to gods of dress,  Knew naught of gossip’s blight,  Lived she to work and bless; …

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