Poems (Piatt)/Volume 1/The Order for her Portrait

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Poems
by Sarah Piatt
The Order for her Portrait
4617735Poems — The Order for her PortraitSarah Piatt
THE ORDER FOR HER PORTRAIT.
I say what Cromwell said,
(Smile, grey-haired sceptic, if you think me bold)
And that Italian count whose hair was red,—
His great will would not have it painted gold.

No, I am brave, not vain;
Braver than he of Macedon, since I
For Vanity's slight sake would hardly stain
Art and the awful future with a lie:

You know that hand whose pride
Within its hollow held one world, afar
Reaching for others, raised itself to hide
On pictured brows the glory of a scar.

But paint me as I am,
Whatever shape or colour you may see;
And do not fold the white fleece of the lamb
About the yellow lioness, for me.

Ay, as I am. And then,
No matter what you on your canvas find,
It shall not shrink before the eyes of men;
It shall be truth—unless your soul be blind!