PORTRAIT D'UNE DAME ESPAGNOLE
Could thus the boast of Seville recreate,
Even when one like thee before him stood?
Like thee, own child of Spain, whose beauteous pride,
Desire, disdain, all sins thy mien express,
Should need no absolution—hadst thou died
Unhouselled, in their imaged loveliness.
All this had Fate decreed,—the antique skill,
The halt, the poise, the long auspicious day,—
Yielding this once, thy triumph to fulfil,
Velasquez' sceptre to Fortuny's sway.
Shine from thy cloud of night, fair star, nor fear
Oblivion, though men thy dust inurn,
For who may bid thy counterpart appear
Until the hand that drew thee shall return!
1889
42
