The Count's Mistress
There her portrait is,
smiling down from the wall,
to grace us all with her rosy
blush.
How alive she seems now
that she is frozen forever
in that happy glint.
Never do I remember her
being quite like that in
the flesh, near sullen
she was, she simply would
not please.
But now I say look upon her
all bright and warm, how much
I cherish this portrait of my sweet
more than I could ever have loved her.
Never did she please quite so
much with her wild temperament,
her ravings and complaining,
her quaint little frown.
But here, look now how
she beams always, never
to draw her lips down, never
to utter a word against this
or that.
How content now she is,
just a painting on the wall,
I know now I am in her favor,
as every time I pass by she
has her warm eyes lit upon me.
Frozen as she had never before
been, how I love this portrait
more then I doted upon the real
thing, for how cold she was when
she lived.
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