| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900. |
| |
| 677. Transfigured |
| | | By Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt |
| |
| |
| ALMOST afraid they led her in | |
| (A dwarf more piteous none could find): | |
| Withered as some weird leaf, and thin, | |
| The woman was—and wan and blind. | |
| |
| Into his mirror with a smile— | 5 |
| Not vain to be so fair, but glad— | |
| The South-born painter looked the while, | |
| With eyes than Christ’s alone less sad. | |
| |
| “Mother of God,” in pale surprise | |
| He whispered, “what am I to paint!” | 10 |
| A voice, that sounded from the skies, | |
| Said to him, “Raphael, a saint.” | |
| |
| She sat before him in the sun: | |
| He scarce could look at her, and she | |
| Was still and silent…. “It is done,” | 15 |
| He said.—“Oh, call the world to see!” | |
| |
| Ah, this was she in veriest truth— | |
| Transcendent face and haloed hair. | |
| The beauty of divinest youth, | |
| Divinely beautiful, was there. | 20 |
| |
| Herself into her picture passed— | |
| Herself and not her poor disguise, | |
| Made up of time and dust…. At last | |
| One saw her with the Master’s eyes. | |
| |
|
|
|
