To The Portrait Of "A Lady" In The Athenaeum Gallery

Well, Miss, I wonder where you live,     I wonder what's your name,     I wonder how you came to be     In such a stylish frame;     Perhaps you were a favorite child,     Perhaps an only one;     Perhaps your friends were not aware     You had your portrait done.     Yet you must be a harmless soul;     I cannot think that Sin     Would care to throw his loaded dice,     With such a stake to win;     I cannot think you would provoke     The poet's wicked pen,     Or make young women bite their lips,     Or ruin fine young men.     Pray, did you ever hear, my love,     Of boys that go about,     Who, for a very trifling sum,     Will snip one's picture out?     I'm not averse to red and white,     But all things have their place,     I think a profile cut in black     Would suit your style of face!     I love sweet features; I will own     That I should like myself     To see my portrait on a wall,     Or bust upon a shelf;     But nature sometimes makes one up     Of such sad odds and ends,     It really might be quite as well     Hushed up among one's friends!