An Old Likeness

Recalling R. T.     Who would have thought     That, not having missed her     Talks, tears, laughter     In absence, or sought     To recall for so long     Her gamut of song;     Or ever to waft her     Signal of aught     That she, fancy-fanned,     Would well understand,     I should have kissed her     Picture when scanned     Yawning years after!     Yet, seeing her poor     Dim-outlined form     Chancewise at night-time,     Some old allure     Came on me, warm,     Fresh, pleadful, pure,     As in that bright time     At a far season     Of love and unreason,     And took me by storm     Here in this blight-time!     And thus it arose     That, yawning years after     Our early flows     Of wit and laughter,     And framing of rhymes     At idle times,     At sight of her painting,     Though she lies cold     In churchyard mould,     I took its feinting     As real, and kissed it,     As if I had wist it     Herself of old.