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A lady plays a 16-stringed sitar or guitar, or more likely a chitarrone; she is sitting by a rosebush wearing a white dress, and plays from music. Behind her a cherub plays the violin; he is naked and has wings. I have also made a separate image with just the cherub.
The picture is next to “O, Lay Thy hand In Mine, Dear,” a song by the English poet Gerald Massey, with music by Smith Newell Penfield.
O lay they hand in mine, dear,
We’re growing old;
But time has brought no sign, dear,
That hearts grow cold.
’Tis long, long since our new love
Made life divine,
But age enricheth true love,
Like noble wine.
And lay thy cheek to mine, dear,
And take thy rest;
Mine arms around thee twine, dear,
And make thy nest.
A many cares are pressing
On this dear head,
But sorrow’s hands in blessing
Are surely laid.
O lean they life on mine, dear,
’Twill shelter thee;
Thou wert a winsome vine, dear,
On my young tree.
And so till boughs are leafless,
And song-birds flown,
We’ll twine, we’ll twine,
then lay us griefless,
Together, together down.” (p. 254)