Poems (Radford)/A Portrait
For works with similar titles, see A Portrait.
A Portrait
In winter days you came to me, When sitters all had taken flight,When I no longer thought to see Gay faces by my studio light;When grave and gay long since had soughtThe brightness mine no longer brought.
And when my painting, good and ill, Discarded lay amid the gloom,When only shadows stayed to fill The vacant spaces of my room;In such a dreary hour your feetCame kindly up the lonely street.
Of silks and jewels rarely wed, Of flower-hued embroideries,Your flowing raiment surely shed A heavenly fragrance for my case;And healing rays for me to secAnd paint you by—so gratefully.
And with the cunning of my hand, And with the passion of my heart,With all my life at my command Did I perform my grateful part,And beautiful beyond compare,I set you on my canvas there.
But you, with nought but laughing eyes, Went forth again without a word,From my beseeching prayers and sighs, You turned, as though you had not heard,You would not learn, or stay to sec,The triumph you had mace for me.
And when the year had changed to spring And, idle through the sunny day,About you I sat wondering, You came once more my studio way,And with a cold indifferent faceYou passed the old familiar place.
With all its former splendour gone, In sombre folds your raiment fell,No jewels from its dulness shone Of all that I had loved so well,No beauty now nor grace betrayedYours was the picture I had made,
Then for my gratitude's sweet sake, With firm and patient brush I drew,And painted out my last mistake— The beautiful dear face I knew—And empty now—whate'er befallYour canvas hangs upon my wall.