 | Marah |  |
17
HER PORTRAIT
1
Her form has the mingled graceOf a child and a queen in one.
There is pride in her pure young face,
In her voice is a far-off tone,
And her eyes have the gaze of a forest creature
That has lived in the woods alone.
2
A creature whose steps are lightAs the leaflets brusht by its brow,
When 'tis stay'd in its buoyant flight
By the sound of a rustling bough,
And, suddenly motionless, looks and listens
As she looks and is listening now.
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3
But a young queen, too, she looks.And I think that a woodland doe,
If transform'd, as in fairy books,
By the magic of long ago
To a mystical, milk-white, maiden princess
Would listen and look just so.
4
Her summers, at most nineteen,Are yet short of a single score;
Twice as much has the number been
Of my winters, and something more;
And my knowledge of life is a cramm'd museum,
Hers only an infant's store.
5
Yet I see but thro' her wild eyes,And my thoughts are whatever she thinks;
19
If she censures, my confidence sinks;
And, as judged by the least of her looks and glances,
My spirit expands or shrinks.
6
I have faced the world in my day,And have fought it and overthrown;
I have struggled and won my way,
And no rival has beaten me down;
Yet my courage fails, and my whole frame falters,
If she chances to chide or frown.
7
Her light little step outstripsMy stride, to ascents sublime;
Hid in shadows that haunt her lips
Are the secrets of space and time;
And, attuned to the music around her moving,
The stars in their courses chime.
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8
She has read not the tedious taleOf the dead world's grief and glee,
Nor been stirr'd by the shrill birth-wail
Of the ages beginning to be;
But she carries secure at her simple girdle
The Infinite's golden key.
9
I have gather'd what life can give,With the prizes its pains confer;
Yet for naught do I care to live
But to love and be loved by her.
Fate, grant me but this, and all gains and glories
I surrender without demur!
| Marah | |