Talk of the Heart: A Head

A Head

... Long did the artist gaze upon her head —
the proud head of the woman poet —
his dreaming glances kissing her pale face
with delicacy and contemplation:
between the page of her cheek and the brow,
and between her eyes and the nose,
alighting, content, upon the velvet neck...

"This head," he said,
"shall be made immortal in marble, beneath my chisel and my fingertips."
I shall know how to scatter the straying locks of hair
about your head —
a sprinkling of wild daisies —
the ear beneath them peeping like an infant crescent moon...
And I shall know how to bring the eyelids together
in a half-closing,
so that of your eyes' enchantment nothing shows but their lashes..
And I shall keep the brow thus... high,
defiant —
and oh, the quiver of the full lip above the finer chin!
And with a touch of splendor at the temples I shall complete the head;
as for the wonder of the body... that is for the fertile imagination!!

You shall be made immortal at my hands, in the veins
of the white marble —
a pulse of life....
a female... a poet...
You shall be immortal for all time,
the masterpiece of my art,
after I am folded away,
and after you are folded away...

And the artist's fingers went tending her head
with a graceful touch,
and for a moment the poet fancied
that in his touch there was some tenderness,
and that in his glances there was something deeper!...