, 11 2007 . 11:04
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One face looks out from all his canvases,
One selfsame figure sits or walks or leans:
We found her hidden just behind the screens,
The 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 meaning, neither more nor less.
He feeds upon her face both day and night,
And she with true kind eyes looks back on him,
Fair as the moon and joyful as the night:
Not wan with waiting, not with sorrow dim;
Not as she is, but when hope shone bright;
Not as she is, but as she fills his dream.
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Beata Beatrix . , .
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