The Blue Bird (Custance)/The Photograph
For other versions of this work, see The Photograph (Custance).
THE PHOTOGRAPH
O Beauty, what is this?A shadow of your face . . .Where is the wild-flower graceThat Love is wont to kiss?
Where is the bird that bringsTo your untroubled eyesThe blue of fairy skies,The flash of fairy wings? . . .
O wild bird of delight,That no white hand may hold,Or fairest cage of gold . . .For who would stay its flight?
The song-bird of your voice.Whose magic song Love hears,Trembling behind your tears,Trilling when you rejoice . . .
(Weave nets to snare the dawnSo delicately shy . . .You catch a butterflyWith all its colours gone.)
O Beauty, what is this?The shadow of a rose . . .A little ghost that goesOblivious of Love's kiss.
Only a shadow . . . yetIt may, in some dark hourRecall the living flower . . .If haply Love forget.