Poems (Chilton, 1885)/On a Miniature
ON A MINIATURE.
The same, yet not the same; here is the eye
Thro' which thy pure soul looked, as it looks now,—
Calm, steadfast, true; here the unruffled brow,
And the sweet mouth about whose corners lie
Shy, shifting graces that betray what speech
Shall issue from thy lips—soft, gracious words,
Sweet as the songs of Summer's earliest birds
When in green woods they carol each to each.
Ah! how my thoughts fly backward, as I gaze
On this dear portrait, to those golden hours
When all the earth for me was sown with flowers,
And all too short the Summer's longest days.
With the same love that thrilled me then, I now
Press to my lips thy pictured cheek and brow.
Thro' which thy pure soul looked, as it looks now,—
Calm, steadfast, true; here the unruffled brow,
And the sweet mouth about whose corners lie
Shy, shifting graces that betray what speech
Shall issue from thy lips—soft, gracious words,
Sweet as the songs of Summer's earliest birds
When in green woods they carol each to each.
Ah! how my thoughts fly backward, as I gaze
On this dear portrait, to those golden hours
When all the earth for me was sown with flowers,
And all too short the Summer's longest days.
With the same love that thrilled me then, I now
Press to my lips thy pictured cheek and brow.