Pebbles and Shells (Hawkes collection)/A Portrait of My Lady
A PORTRAIT OF MY LADY
PRELUDE
O words! weak words, how can I give thee formAnd color like the fair young face I fainWould paint? How can I give thee light and shade,And strength and truth and gentle earnestness,And crown them all with that rich coronetOf human life, a great and noble soul?
O eyes! deep lucent pools of tendernessAnd truth, where all that fair or good in earthOr heaven mirrored lies, where burns the fireOf proud ambition towards the infinite,And soul that will not rest content with smallUncertain things, but needs must climb from heightTo height, undazzled by the altitude,That cannot rest until it knoweth God,The source, and author of the universe,The fountain of all beauty and all truth,And knowing Him—must love the mysteryOf earth, of air, of sun, of sky, and allThat moves and lives in this great universe.O eyes, so strong, so deep, so grave, so fullOf that unspoken language of the soul;Mine own poor orbs go down before thy gazeAs 'twere an angel sent to me from heaven To read my heart and pierce my inmost soul;So rare, so pure, so heavenly is your light.
O lips! fair servants of the heart and brain,Expressing all her thoughts and feelings inSuch myriad forms of speech, and diverse looks,And little intonations quaint and sweetThat saying nothing, mean a volume full,And fill the poet's heart with joy and fear;That in their speech let fall such pearls of truth,Such spotless gems of fancy and of wit,It seemed she held the chalice of all wit,All wisdom, and all fancy in her hands,And did but lavish forth what pleased her mood,And in such tones it seemed a siren spake;And who shall paint the rapture of those lipsWhen through their ruby depths there breaks a smileLike sunlight through the rosy gates of morn,Or like a primrose parted by a sunbeam.O lips of beauty, strength and eloquence,Of tenderness and power all blent in one,O bless me with one word of gracious praise,Of commendation for this poor attempt,And more—O ecstacy too great for words,One word of love, of sweet abiding love,Beside which all life's other gold is dross.
O face! the looking glass of woman's soul,The full blown rose of all her sweet perfection, The never failing index of the heart,What strength, what beauty in thy every line,What high-born thought, what thrilling passion speaksIn eye, in mouth, and in thy noble brow;What envy for the rose is in thy blush,What venom for the lily in thy skin.O face, what greater rapture could man knowThan biding near her while my lady dreams,And watch the play, the change of light and shade,Upon her face, when life's full chord is struckAnd flesh reveals the spirit that's within.
O form! that matches symmetry with grace,And eloquence and brawn, with beauty too,Where is the Venus, born of ancient art,Or Diana, so strong and swift of foot,In noble bust that can compare with thee?How flows the rich profusion of thy hairIn glossy tresses down a lily neck,How swells the contour of thy virgin breastWith all that is most noble in the heart,What graceful curves thy sloping shoulders make,And how above the rest, serene and fullThy noble forehead speaks intelligence.
O queen of beauty! regent of my heart!I bring this poor portrayal of thy grace, A better theme for Petrarch, or the bardWho tuned his lyre for goddesses of old,And beg thee hang it in thy banquet hall,Not that it is sufficient in itself,But that it is a labor of such love.There let it hang, upon the frescoed wallJust where some merry sunbeam deigns to slant,Itself a sunbeam from the source of light,That some may know, who pause and chance to lookAbove the mould, and cobwebs at their feet,That some poor fool has dreamed, and e'en aspiredOut of his boundless love that gave him strength,To paint for man, that fairest work of God,Set like a jewel in a grosser worldThat better shows it forth, a perfect woman.