Never let it be said that I, Tallis Steelyard, turn my back on the beautiful ones who by a glance, or a flick of the head, draw me to their side. I stand on the Old Promenade, watching the moon, large and beautiful, as it hangs there. And the lady hints that a poem is … More And an ode commissioned by a lady.
Of course painters are artists. Yes, I admit that they often lack many of the finer graces and are prone to put on airs. The worst for this are those who have just sold something and gold runs through their fingers like quicksilver. Still they are artists, of a sort, and I hold that their … More The trifling peccadilloes of the travelling artist.