Complete Poetical Works






LINES TO A PORTRAIT, BY A SUPERIOR PERSON

     When I bought you for a song,
     Years ago—Lord knows how long!—
     I was struck—I may be wrong—
         By your features,
     And—a something in your air
     That I couldn't quite compare
     To my other plain or fair
         Fellow creatures.

     In your simple, oval frame
     You were not well known to fame,
     But to me—'twas all the same—
         Whoe'er drew you;
     For your face I can't forget,
     Though I oftentimes regret
     That, somehow, I never yet
         Saw quite through you.

     Yet each morning, when I rise,
     I go first to greet your eyes;
     And, in turn, YOU scrutinize
         My presentment.
     And when shades of evening fall,
     As you hang upon my wall,
     You're the last thing I recall
         With contentment.

     It is weakness, yet I know
     That I never turned to go
     Anywhere, for weal or woe,
         But I lingered
     For one parting, thrilling flash
     From your eyes, to give that dash
     To the curl of my mustache,
         That I fingered.

     If to some you may seem plain,
     And when people glance again
     Where you hang, their lips refrain.
         From confession;
     Yet they turn in stealth aside,
     And I note, they try to hide
     How much they are satisfied
         In expression.

     Other faces I have seen;
     Other forms have come between;
     Other things I have, I ween,
         Done and dared for!
     But OUR ties they cannot sever,
     And, though I should say it never,
     You're the only one I ever
         Really cared for!

     And you'll still be hanging there
     When we're both the worse for wear,
     And the silver's on my hair
         And off your backing;
     Yet my faith shall never pass
     In my dear old shaving-glass,
     Till my face and yours, alas!
         Both are lacking!

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