 | Poems by a Painter |  |
16
THE UNKNOWN PORTRAIT. No. I.
Shadow with the golden hair,
Phantom with the eyes of blue,
What wild thing of earth or air,
What bright creature pure and fair,
Shall my song compare with you?
Not the stately swan that gleams
At sunrise down the vale of streams;
Not the timid mountain hind,
Light of foot as summer wind;
Not the skylark, as she springs
From her nest on dewy wings,
And up the blue lift soaring sings;
Not the butterfly that dances
All day long from flower to flower;
Not the ephemeris that glances,
Fitful as a poet's fancies,
O'er the tarn beside my bower,
Would I dare to match with you,
Phantom with the eyes of blue!
Phantom with the eyes of blue,
What wild thing of earth or air,
What bright creature pure and fair,
Shall my song compare with you?
Not the stately swan that gleams
At sunrise down the vale of streams;
Not the timid mountain hind,
Light of foot as summer wind;
Not the skylark, as she springs
From her nest on dewy wings,
And up the blue lift soaring sings;
17
All day long from flower to flower;
Not the ephemeris that glances,
Fitful as a poet's fancies,
O'er the tarn beside my bower,
Would I dare to match with you,
Phantom with the eyes of blue!
Nor the sweet young crescent moon
In the gloaming-heaven of June;
Nor her shadow on the sea,
When the wind's low minstrelsy
Stirs him in his trancèd sleep;
Nor the rainbow-bells that leap
Where the fairy-fountain falleth,
Softly chiming, ever falleth
In the hollow of the granite,—
Mab's unbraided locks would span it!
Nor a gem of odorous dew
In the bosom of a rose,
With the sunshine streaming through;
Nor that saintliest flower that blows,
The virgin lily, as she bendeth
O'er some lake ere night descendeth;
Nor the planet of the even,—
Of all fairest things in heaven
Or earth most spirit-like and fair—
With your beauty may compare,
Shadow with the golden hair!
In the gloaming-heaven of June;
Nor her shadow on the sea,
When the wind's low minstrelsy
Stirs him in his trancèd sleep;
Nor the rainbow-bells that leap
Where the fairy-fountain falleth,
Softly chiming, ever falleth
In the hollow of the granite,—
Mab's unbraided locks would span it!
Nor a gem of odorous dew
In the bosom of a rose,
18
Nor that saintliest flower that blows,
The virgin lily, as she bendeth
O'er some lake ere night descendeth;
Nor the planet of the even,—
Of all fairest things in heaven
Or earth most spirit-like and fair—
With your beauty may compare,
Shadow with the golden hair!
All in vain my fancy strings
Names of earth's divinest things,
Fondly striving to express
Something of your loveliness;
But that loveliness as far
Theirs transcends as doth the star
The dewdrop, or yon stainless round
Of sapphire sky the smirched ground.
For all things most pure and sweet
That nature owneth, blended meet
In this angel form and face,
Stealing unimagined grace
And glory from the unsullied Soul,
That dwells within and lights the whole.
Names of earth's divinest things,
Fondly striving to express
Something of your loveliness;
But that loveliness as far
Theirs transcends as doth the star
The dewdrop, or yon stainless round
Of sapphire sky the smirched ground.
For all things most pure and sweet
That nature owneth, blended meet
19
Stealing unimagined grace
And glory from the unsullied Soul,
That dwells within and lights the whole.
| Poems by a Painter | |