To Mary, on Receiving Her Picture
1
This faint resemblance of thy charms,
(Though strong as mortal art could give)
My constant heart of fear disarms,
Revives my hopes, and bids me live.
2
Here I can trace the locks of gold,
Which round thy snowy forehead wave,
The cheeks which sprung from Beauty’s mould,
The lips which made me Beauty’s slave.
3
Here I can trace—ah no! that eye,
Whose azure floats in liquid fire,
Must all the painter’s art defy,
And bid him from the task retire.
4
Here I behold, its beauteous hue,
But where’s the beam of soft desire?
Which gave a lustre to its blue,
Love, only love, could e’er inspire.
5
Sweet copy! far more dear to me,
Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art,
Than all the living forms could be,
Save her, who plac’d thee next my heart.
6
She plac’d it, sad with needless fear,
Lest time might shake my wavering soul,
Unconscious that her image there,
Held every sense in fast controul.
7
Through hours, through years, through time ’twill cheer,
My hope in gloomy moments raise;
In life’s last conflict ’t’will appear,
And meet my fond, expiring gaze.