Beneath a Photograph
PHŒBUS, who taught me art divine,Here tried his hand where I did mine;And his white fingers in this faceSet my Fair’s sigh-suggesting grace.O sweetness past profaning guess,Grievous with its own exquisiteness!Vesper-like face, its shadows brightWith meanings of sequestered light;Drooped with shamefast sanctitiesShe purely fears eyes cannot miss,Yet would blush to know she is.Ah, who can view with passionless glanceThis tear-compelling countenance!He has cozened it to tellAlmost its own miracle.Yet I, all-viewing though he be,Methinks saw further here than he;And, Master gay! I swear I drewSomething the better of the two!