Classic Poem

I RESOLVED to have my picture —
Dressed myself with dainty care,
Tried to smooth away my wrinkles,
Tried to curl my scanty hair
Donned a costly velvet jacket,
Prankt my head with cluny lace,
Tried to call up all the sunshine
Of my nature to my face.

As I did not wish my picture
Like a milkmaid, nor a queen,
Too simple nor too dignified,
But something just between,
I assumed an easy posture,
And a cool, nonchalant air,
And assumed to look unconscious,
Or as though I did not care.

Then I whispered, " Bread and butter, "
Just to get my lips in shape,
But the muscles would keep moving,
And I felt the light escape;
For the artist re-arranged me,
Spied, and changed my pose at will,
Pushed my shoulders back and forward,
Clamped my head to keep it still.

But a shock of electricity
Through every fiber run,
And my heart was wildly throbbing
Ere the picture was begun.
But I held my breath and squinted,
Until everything was blue —
I was sitting for my picture then,
And that is all I knew.

You may guess, from such beginning,
That the grand result would be
A shadow, unlike any one,
And least of all like me.
There is not a line of beauty,
Not a touch of tender grace,
Not a vestige of expression
In this heavy, stolid face.

The eyebrows have no character,
The mouth is large and weak,
A certain over-quantity
Mars under-jaw and cheek;
The eyes are small and watery,
With neither shade nor shine,
And the nose, I think, if possible,
Is uglier than mine.