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<h2>FADED PICTURES</h2>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Only two patient eyes to stare<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Out of the canvas. All the rest—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The warm green gown, the small hands pressed<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Light in the lap, the braided hair<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">That must have made the sweet low brow<br/></span>
<span class="i0">So earnest, centuries ago,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When some one saw it change and glow—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">All faded! Just the eyes burn now.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I dare say people pass and pass<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Before the blistered little frame,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And dingy work without a name<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Stuck in behind its square of glass.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But I, well, I left Raphael<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Just to come drink these eyes of hers,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To think away the stains and blurs<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And make all new again and well.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Only, for tears my head will bow,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Because there on my heart's last wall,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Scarce one tint left to tell it all,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A picture keeps its eyes, somehow.<br/></span></div>
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