Poems (Hardy)/A cameo
A CAMEO
SHE bowed her head above a book; I saw her face in shade;The beauty of her tranquil look The book's reflection made.
Her hand lay white upon the page, Her hair, dull gold, hung low;Or whether bard she read, or sage, Little I cared to know.
A pleasant picture, purely set, Its mood all fair, though grave,The virtue of an amulet To my remembrance gave.