George P. Morris

WILLIAM was holding in his hand

The likeness of his wife:

’T was drawn by some enchanter’s wand—

It look’d—it smiled—like life!

He almost thought it spoke—he gazed

Upon the painting still,

And was delighted and amazed

To view the artist’s skill.

“This picture is thyself, sweet Jane,—

’T is drawn to nature true;

I ’ve kiss’d it o’er and o’er again,

It is so much like you!”

“And has it kiss’d you back, my dear?”

“Why—no, my love,” said he;

“Then, William, it is very clear

It ’s not at all like me.”