Classic Poem

W ILLIAM was holding in his hand
The likeness of his wife!
Fresh, as if touched by fairy wand,
With beauty, grace, and life.
He almost thought it spoke: — he gazed
Upon the bauble still,
Absorbed, delighted, and amazed,
To view the artist's skill.

" This picture is yourself, dear Jane —
'Tis drawn to nature true:
I've kissed it o'er and o'er again,
It is so much like you. "
" And has it kissed you back, my dear? "
" Why — no — my love, " said he.
" Then, William, it is very clear
'Tis not at all like me! "