THE PORTRAIT
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Lord of all compassionate control,O Love! let this my lady's picture glowUnder my hand to praise her name, and showEven of her inner self the perfect whole:That he who seeks her beauty's furthest goal,Beyond the light that the sweet glances throwAnd refluent wave of the sweet smile, may knowThe very sky and sea-line of her soul. Lo! it is done. Above the long lithe throatThe mouth's mould testifies of voice and kiss,The shadowed eyes remember and foresee.Her face is made her shrine. Let all men noteThat in all years (O Love, thy gift is this!)They that would look on her must come to me.
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