Richard Watson Gilder

The New Day. Part 4. 2. The Mirror

That I should love thee seemeth meet and wise,
⁠     So beautiful thou art that he were mad
     ⁠Who in thy countenance no pleasure had;
⁠     Who felt not the still music of thine eyes
Fall on his forehead, as the evening skies
     ⁠The music of the stars feel and are glad.
⁠     But o'er my mind one doubt still cast a shade
⁠     Till in my thought this answer did arise:
That thou shouldst love me is not wise or meet,
     ⁠For like thee, Love, I am not beautiful;
⁠     And yet I think that haply in my face
Thou findest a true beauty;—this poor, dull,
⁠     Disfigured mirror dimly may repeat
⁠     A little part of thy most heavenly grace.