TO A PAINTING

If miracles were my domain,

Dear lady of the Plastic Muse,

Your charms would know still better use,

They wouldn't stay long there in vain!

When painting gave you form, some years

Ago, it framed your soul in strife.

I only wish it'd given you life,

That sound could reach inside your ears.

For who would think that blindness hides

Behind those brilliant eyes, that sight,

In fact, was never there, when tides

Of hope flow-in upon my mind ...

To ebb as doubt that I could find

A beauty such as yours tonight?