HIS time-worn canvas bears a pictured face,
Which, once beheld, comes back to thought again,—
Passionate, proud, yet touched with tender grace,
And marked with lines which tell of hidden pain.
AN OLD PORTRAIT.
HIS time-worn canvas bears a pictured face,Which, once beheld, comes back to thought again,—
Passionate, proud, yet touched with tender grace,
And marked with lines which tell of hidden pain.
O noble face! in whose compelling eyes
There lurks a power which stays me on my way,
Which thrills me always with a new surprise,
And holds me gazing half the livelong day,—
There lurks a power which stays me on my way,
Which thrills me always with a new surprise,
And holds me gazing half the livelong day,—
Strange eyes, whose earthly task of smiles and tears
Was finished long ago, and sealed in night;
Eyes which were closed in death a hundred years
Before mine own had opened to the light,—
Was finished long ago, and sealed in night;
Eyes which were closed in death a hundred years
Before mine own had opened to the light,—
Why do you haunt me so? Some bitter days,
When all the rose-tints vanish from my sky,
And I go stumbling down life's darkest ways,
I can but think perhaps the reason why
When all the rose-tints vanish from my sky,
And I go stumbling down life's darkest ways,
I can but think perhaps the reason why
My life has been so barren and forlorn,
So full of tears and losses, is that Fate
Made some unkind mistake, and I was born
An age too early or an age too late.
So full of tears and losses, is that Fate
Made some unkind mistake, and I was born
An age too early or an age too late.
And when I read in these strange, wistful eyes
The yearning lack of something which I know
They never found in life, I think with sighs
A century too late—ah, more's the woe!
The yearning lack of something which I know
They never found in life, I think with sighs
A century too late—ah, more's the woe!
Perhaps I am the one for whom he sought,
Walking the earth's dry places o'er and o'er,
Calling for her, alas! who answered not,
And, never finding, lacked forevermore!
Walking the earth's dry places o'er and o'er,
Calling for her, alas! who answered not,
And, never finding, lacked forevermore!
Perhaps I might have lived a nobler life,
If but these marvellous eyes had held me dear;
Perhaps I might have soothed the proud soul's strife,
Outlooking from their darkness deep and clear;—
If but these marvellous eyes had held me dear;
Perhaps I might have soothed the proud soul's strife,
Outlooking from their darkness deep and clear;—
Perhaps—who knows? O sad and tender eyes,
Look not upon me so reproachfully;
Since bitterly my soul forever cries,
"O cruel Love, that did not wait for me!"
Look not upon me so reproachfully;
Since bitterly my soul forever cries,
"O cruel Love, that did not wait for me!"