Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By William AllenButler513 Incognita of Raphael
L
On the fair form, the quaint costume;
Yet, nameless still, she sits, unknown,
A lady in her youthful bloom.
Their blight upon her perfect lot,
Whate’er her future or her past
In this bright moment matters not.
There needs, nor memory of her name;
Enough that Raphael’s colors blent
To give her features deathless fame!
The crown of beauty on her brow;
Still lives its early radiance yet,
As at the earliest, even now.
In all the rapt Cecilia’s grace;
Nor yet the holy, calm repose
He painted on the Virgin’s face.
There lurk within these earnest eyes,
The passions that have had their birth
And grown beneath Italian skies.
What hopes, and fears, and longings rest
Where falls the folded veil, or gleams
The golden necklace on her breast!
May shade the secret soul within;
What griefs from passion’s overflow,
What shame that follows after sin!
Are those pure eyes, those glances pure;
And queenly is the state she keeps,
In beauty’s lofty trust secure.
Through all those grand and pictured halls,
Nor felt the magic of her glance,
As when a voice of music calls?
Sweet day, in spring’s unclouded time,
While on the glowing canvas lay
The light of that delicious clime,—
On the fair brow, the peerless cheek;
The lips, I fancied, almost breathed
The blessings that they could not speak.
Upon the picture their mild gaze,
And dear the voice that gave consent
To all the utterance of my praise.
O happy memories, shrined apart;
The rapture that the painter wrought,
The kindred rapture of the heart!