| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | To a Portrait of Whistler in the Brooklyn Art Museum | | By Eleanor Rogers Cox |
| | | WHAT waspish whim of Fate | |
| Was this that bade you here | |
| Hold dim, unhonored state, | |
| No single courtier near? | |
| |
| Is there, of all who pass, | 5 |
| No choice, discerning few | |
| To poise the ribboned glass | |
| And gaze enwrapt on you? | |
| |
| Sword-soul that from its sheath | |
| Laughed leaping to the fray, | 10 |
| How calmly underneath | |
| Goes Brooklyn on her way! | |
| |
| Quite heedless of that smile— | |
| Half-devil and half-god, | |
| Your quite unequalled style, | 15 |
| The airy heights you trod. | |
| |
| Ah, could you from earth’s breast | |
| Come back to take the air, | |
| What matter here for jest | |
| Most exquisite and rare! | 20 |
| |
| But since you may not come, | |
| Since silence holds you fast, | |
| Since all your quips are dumb | |
| And all your laughter past— | |
| |
| I give you mine instead, | 25 |
| And something with it too | |
| That Brooklyn leaves unsaid— | |
| Your meed of homage due. | |
| |
| Ah, Prince, you smile again— | |
| “My faith, the court is small!” | 30 |
| I know, dear James—but then | |
| It’s I or none at all! | | | | |
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