LA SOLITUDE, HYÈRES.

A picture-frame for you to fill,

A paltry setting for your face,

A thing that has no worth until

You lend it something of your grace,

I send ( unhappy I that sing

Laid by a while upon the shelf )

Because I would not send a thing

Less charming than you are yourself.

And happier than I, alas!

( Dumb thing, I envy its delight )

‘ Twill wish you well, the looking-glass,

And look you in the face to-night.