The New Day. Part 4. 2. The Mirror

That I should love thee seemeth meet and wise,
⁠ So beautiful thou art that he were mad
⁠Who in thy countenance no pleasure had;
⁠ Who felt not the still music of thine eyes
Fall on his forehead, as the evening skies
⁠The music of the stars feel and are glad.
⁠ But o'er my mind one doubt still cast a shade
⁠ Till in my thought this answer did arise:
That thou shouldst love me is not wise or meet,
⁠For like thee, Love, I am not beautiful;
⁠ And yet I think that haply in my face
Thou findest a true beauty;—this poor, dull,
⁠ Disfigured mirror dimly may repeat
⁠ A little part of thy most heavenly grace.