William 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 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!"
The Miniature by George P. Morris (1802 to 1864) This week's poem can be found at this link.