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Show THE PORTRAIT. Say, can you read it? Is it writ<br><br>In any hue upon this face,<br><br>Love once had here his dwelling place,<Br><br> He touched this brow and hallowed it?<br><br><br><br> The pictured face smiles back at me;<br><br>My art hath fashioned all this form,<br><br>My eager hand and fancy warn<Br><br>They made this thing, and bade it be.<br><br><br><br>But is it here? I knew the life,<br><br>I watched the budding of the flower,<br><br>The glorious ripening hour by hour,<br><br>And then the storm and pain and strife.<br><br><br><br> And now, Except the canvas show<br><br>The consummation pure and fair,<br><br>Love's holy work in radiance there,<br><br>Then back to chaos it shall go.<br><br><br><br> Oh! were it not a lifeless shade,<br><br>If pictured lips could smile and speak,<br><br>Then these should say, in accents meek,<br><br>"Naught am I but what Love has made." |