Robert Louis Stevenson

A picture-frame for you to fill,
A paltry setting for your face,
A thing that has no worth until
You lend it something of your grace

I send (unhappy I that sing
Laid by awhile upon the shelf)
Because I would not send a thing
Less charming than you are yourself.

And happier than I, alas!
(Dumb thing, I envy its delight)
'Twill wish you well, the looking-glass,
And look you in the face to-night.


1869