TRANSFIGURED
Almost afraid they led her in:
(A dwarf more piteous none could find);
Withered as some weird leaf, and thin,
The woman was – and wan and blind.
Into his mirror with a smile –
Not vain to be so fair, but glad –
The South-born painter looked the while,
With eyes than Christ's alone less sad.
"Mother of God," in pale surprise
He whispered, "What am I to paint?"
A voice that sounded from the skies
Said to him: "Raphael, a saint."
She sat before him in the sun;
He scarce could look at her, and she
Was still and silent. "It is done,"
He said. "Oh, call the world to see!"
Ah, that was she in veriest truth –
Transcendent face and haloed hair;
The beauty of divinest youth,
Divinely beautiful, was there.
Herself into her picture passed –
Herself and not her poor disguise
Made up of time and dust. At last
One saw her with the Master's eyes.
Almost afraid they led her in:
(A dwarf more piteous none could find);
Withered as some weird leaf, and thin,
The woman was – and wan and blind.
Into his mirror with a smile –
Not vain to be so fair, but glad –
The South-born painter looked the while,
With eyes than Christ's alone less sad.
"Mother of God," in pale surprise
He whispered, "What am I to paint?"
A voice that sounded from the skies
Said to him: "Raphael, a saint."
She sat before him in the sun;
He scarce could look at her, and she
Was still and silent. "It is done,"
He said. "Oh, call the world to see!"
Ah, that was she in veriest truth –
Transcendent face and haloed hair;
The beauty of divinest youth,
Divinely beautiful, was there.
Herself into her picture passed –
Herself and not her poor disguise
Made up of time and dust. At last
One saw her with the Master's eyes.