28.10.2007, 10:50
A PORTRAIT.
SHE hath lived so silently and loved so much
That she is deeply stirred by little things,
While pain's long ache and sorrow's sharper stings
Scarce move her spirit that eludes their clutch ;
But one half-tone of music, or the touch
Of some tame bird's eager vibrating wings,
Breaks up the sealed fountain's murmurings
To storm, or what in others might seem such ;
So, when she lifts her serious lids to turn
On ours her soft and magical dark eyes,
All womanhood seems on her, in disguise ;
As on the pale white peacock we discern
The pencilled shadows of the radiant dyes
And coloured moons that on her sisters burn.
SHE hath lived so silently and loved so much
That she is deeply stirred by little things,
While pain's long ache and sorrow's sharper stings
Scarce move her spirit that eludes their clutch ;
But one half-tone of music, or the touch
Of some tame bird's eager vibrating wings,
Breaks up the sealed fountain's murmurings
To storm, or what in others might seem such ;
So, when she lifts her serious lids to turn
On ours her soft and magical dark eyes,
All womanhood seems on her, in disguise ;
As on the pale white peacock we discern
The pencilled shadows of the radiant dyes
And coloured moons that on her sisters burn.