To a Portrait
She might have been some princess fair,
From Nile’s banks where lotus blooms;
Or one of Pharaoh’s daughters there
Asleep amid long molded tombs.
Or fairy princess sweet and proud,
Or gipsy queen with regal smiles;
Helen of Troy, or Guinevere,
Or Vivien with her witching smile.
Or Zozo’s Queen, or Lily Clay,
Or Mrs. Langtry; or a maid
Of fashion, who, in costume scant,
Her charms is wont to have arrayed.
But none of these she is—not e’en,
Andromeda chained on the rocks.
I found her lovely, lone, and lorn
A chromo on a cracker box.