CLXXXVIII

My darling's features, painted by the light;As in the convex of a mirror, seeHer face diminished so fantasticallyIt scarcely hints her lovely self aright.Away, poor mockery! My outraged sightTurns from the fraud you perpetrate on me;This is no transcript, but a forgery,As far from semblance as is black from white.Breathe, smile, blush, kiss me! Murmur in my earThe things we know -- we only! and give heedTo this deep sigh and this descending tear,Ere from my senses you can win the meedOf faith, to make your doubtful title clear,And so convince me you are she indeed.