Poems (Duer)/To a Photograph
TO A PHOTOGRAPH.
Your stern young face looks out to-night, From most—incongruous of places—My toilet-table's rose and white, Half-hidden by its frills and laces: Set with no gold nor precious stone, But thrust into my mirror's moulding, That the same scroll that frames my own Should have yours, too, within its holding.
Absurd that I consult your eyes, Half in excuse, half in defiance, Lest some of my frivolities Should break our fanciful alliance; Absurd indeed, that I should care For your boy scorn or disapproval, When the same hand that placed you there Has but to rise for your removal.
Yet if I took you from your place, Each night my weary eyes would miss you; And so, dear, stay: perhaps your face Will look less stern each time I kiss you.
C. D.