POETRY.


THE PORTRAIT



I watch you, gazing at me from the wall,

And wonder how you'd match your dreams with mine,

If, mastering time's illusion, I could call

You back to share this quiet candle-shine.


For you were young, three hundred years ago;

And by your looks I guess that you were wise…

Come, whisper soft, and Death will never know

You've slipped away from those calm, painted eyes.





Strange is your voice… Poor ninny, dead so long, And all your pride forgotten like your name. 'One April morn I heard a blackbird's song. And joy was in my heart like leaves aflame.' And so you died before your songs took wing; While Andrew Marvell followed in your wake. 'Love thrilled me into music. I could sing But for a moment, — but for beauty's sake.'

Who passes? There's a star-lit breeze that stirs The glimmer of white lilies in the gloom. Who speaks? Death has his silent messengers. And there was more than silence in this room While you were gazing at me from the wall And wondering how you'd match your dreams with mine, If, mastering time's illusion, you could call Me back to share your vanished candle-shine.



by SIEGFRIED SASSOON

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POETRY.

POETRY.

POETRY.