Fuess and Stearns, comps. The Little Book of Society Verse. 1922.
By. Oliver Wendell HolmesThe Portrait of A Gentleman
I
A warm and loving heart;
I will not blame thee for thy face,
Poor devil as thou art.
Unsightly though it be,—
In spite of all the cold world’s scorn,
It may be much to thee.
Perhaps they pass for blue;—
No matter,—if a man can see,
What more have eyes to do?
By something like a chin,—
May be a very useful place
To put thy victual in.
I know thou hast a child,
By that subdued, domestic smile
Upon thy features mild.
That cherub on thy knee;
They do not shudder at thy looks,
They do not shrink from thee.
A portrait once was there;
It was thine only ornament,—
Alas! that hook is bare.
She begged thee all in vain;
She wept,—and breathed a trembling prayer
To meet it safe again.
That picture torn away;
It was a solemn thought to think
What all her friends would say!
And in her happy dreams,
Upon its long-deserted hook
The absent portrait seems.
In melancholy wise,
And looks to meet the placid stare
Of those unbending eyes.
Perhaps I never may;
It is not often that we cross
Such people in our way;
Or on some foreign shore,
Sure I can take my Bible oath,
I’ve seen that face before.