A PORTRAIT
Mrs. Carroll Dunham, September, 1877.
I KNOW not wherein lay the charm
She had in those remembered days.
The Olympian gait, the welcoming hand,
The frank soul looking from her face,
The manly manners all her own—
Nor yet coquette, nor cold, nor free:
She puzzled, being each in turn;
Or dazzled, mingling all the three.
Out of those gowns, so quaintly rich—
They grew, unshaped by Milan’s shears!—
Rose, like a tower, the ivory throat
Ringed with the rings the Clytie wears.
But, when you sought the Roman face
That on such columns grew—and grows!
You found this wonder in its stead—
The sea-shell’s curves, the sea-shell’s rose!
Her eyes, the succory’s way-side blue;
Her lips, the wilding way-side rose:
But, Beauty dreamed a prouder dream,
Throned on her forehead’s moonlit snows.
And, over all, the wreathéd hair
That caught the sunset’s streaming gold,
Where, now, a crocus bud was set,
Or violet, hid in the braided fold!
But, she, so deep her conscious pride,
So sure her knowledge she was fair—
What gowns she wore, or silk, or serge,
She seemed to neither know, nor care.
She smiled on cat, or frowned on friend,
Or gave her horse the hand denied.
To-day, bewitched you with her wit,
To-morrow, snubbed you from her side.