Oh, serious eyes! how is it that the light, <br />The burning rays, that mine pour into ye, <br />Still find ye cold, and dead, and dark as night— <br />Oh, lifeless eyes! can ye not answer me? <br />Oh, lips! whereon mine own so often dwell, <br />Hath love's warm, fearful, thrilling touch, no spell <br />To waken sense in ye?—oh, misery! <br />Oh, breathless lips! can ye not speak to me? <br />Thou soulless mimicry of life! my tears <br />Fall scalding over thee; in vain, in vain; <br />I press thee to my heart, whose hopes, and fears, <br />Are all thine own; thou dost not feel the strain. <br />Oh, thou dull image! wilt thou not reply <br />To my fond prayers, and wild idolatry?<br /><br />Frances Anne Kemble<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-a-picture/
