 | Poems |  |
ON A MINIATURE OF MY WIFE.
Yes—there's the cheek—the placid eye,The softly shaded hair,
The smile, the lip—yet tell me why
Seems something wanting there?
Ah, needless question! wherefore ask?
How can the pencil trace
The fond affection, the calm love,
That sanctifies her face?
Oh, Art is strong from time and death
The outward charm to win,
But vainly does it strive with Life
To paint the heart within!
| Poems | |