THE PORTRAIT
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watch you, gazing at me from the wall,And wonder how you'd match your dreams with mine,If, mastering time's illusion, I could callYou back to share this quiet candle-shine. For you were young, three-hundred years ago;And by your looks I guess that you were wise...Come, whisper soft, and Death will never knowYou've slipped away from those calm, painted eyes. Strange is your voice ... Poor ninny, dead so long,And all your pride forgotten like your name.'_One April morn I heard a blackbird's song,_'_And joy was in my heart like leaves aflame._' And so you died before your songs took wing;While Andrew Marvell followed in your wake.'_Love thrilled me into music. I could singBut for a moment,--but for beauty's sake._' Who passes? There's a star-lit breeze that stirsThe glimmer of white lilies in the gloom.Who speaks? Death has his silent messengers:And there was more than silence in this room While you were gazing at me from the wallAnd wondering how you'd match your dreams with mine,If, mastering time's illusion, you could callMe back to share your vanished candle-shine.
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