In the Gallery

O patria mia!

One drawing held her; it was of
An indistinct but Eastern view
And had no special charm: her hand
Strayed to the glass as if she knew
The contours of that barren land
And could not stare at them enough:

I saw her beauty then, the love
Made steady in her exiled eyes:
Those lines were faint as memory,
Effaced as elusive sighs
That scarcely broke her reverie;
I watched, withheld, and could not move.

from The Covenant (Anvil, 1984), © Dick Davis 1984, used by permission of the author and the publisher.

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