IDA RENTOUL OUTHWAITE

The wall is silence, the grass is sleep, Tall trees of peace their vigil keep, And the Fairy of Dreams with moth-wings furled. Plays soft on her flute to the drowsy world.

Then clear on a flute of purest gold A sweet little fairy played. And wonderful fairy tales she told and marvelous music made.

I just had to plod along without having any teaching, which was a pity.

There is something magical in seeing what you can do, what texture and tone and colour you can produce merely with a pen point and a bottle of ink.

I used to find great difficulty in drawing feet.

I should have been a much better artist if I could have studied more and amused myself less.

I just had to plod along without having any teaching, which was a pity.

I should have been a much better artist if I could have studied more and amused myself less.

There is something magical in seeing what you can do, what texture and tone and colour you can produce merely with a pen point and a bottle of ink.

I used to find great difficulty in drawing feet.

The wall is silence, the grass is sleep, Tall trees of peace their vigil keep, And the Fairy of Dreams with moth-wings furled. Plays soft on her flute to the drowsy world.

Then clear on a flute of purest gold A sweet little fairy played. And wonderful fairy tales she told and marvelous music made.