In an Artist's Studio
One face looks out from all his canvases,
One selfsame figure sits or walks or leans:
We found her hidden just behind those screens,
That mirror gave back all her loveliness.
A queen in opal or in ruby dress,
A nameless girl in freshest summer-greens,
A saint, an angel — every canvas means
The same one meaning, neither more or less.
He feeds upon her face by day and night,
And she with true kind eyes looks back on him,
Fair as the moon and joyful as the light:
Not wan with waiting, not with sorrow dim;
Not as she is, but was when hope shone bright;
Not as she is, but as she fills his dream.
Другие работы автора
Winter: My Secret
I tell my secret? No indeed, not I; Perhaps some day, who knows? But not today; it froze, and blows and snows, And you’re too curious: fie!
Who Has Seen the Wind?
Who has seen the wind? Neither I nor you: But when the leaves hang trembling, The wind is passing through.
"I wish I could remember that first day"
Era gia l’ora che volge il desio. – Dante Ricorro al tempo ch’io vi vidi prima. – Petrarca I wish I could remember that first day, First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
"I loved you first: but afterwards your love"
Poca favilla gran fiamma seconda. – Dante Ogni altra cosa, ogni pensier va fore, E sol ivi con voi rimansi amore. – Petrarca I loved you first: but afterwards your love