AN OLD LIKENESS

Who would have thought

That, not having missed her

Talks, tears, laughter

In absence, or sought

To recall for so long

Her gamut of song;

Or ever to waft her

Signal of aught

That she, fancy-fanned,

Would well understand,

I should have kissed her

Picture when scanned

Yawning years after!

Yet, seeing her poor

Dim-outlined form

Chancewise at night-time,

Some old allure

Came on me, warm,

Fresh, pleadful, pure,

As in that bright time

At a far season

Of love and unreason,

And took me by storm

Here in this blight-time!

And thus it arose

That, yawning years after

Our early flows

Of wit and laughter,

And framing of rhymes

At idle times,

At sight of her painting,

Though she lies cold

In churchyard mould,

I took its feinting

As real, and kissed it,

As if I had wist it

Herself of old.