A Look Beheld

Those of us who lack beauty have a gift

As recompense for our misshapen forms:

We can gold from ordinary muck sift

And know it when real to ideal conforms

I cannot tell what you are looking at

As brush and pigment immortalize you;

Regardless, know that I do envy that

Which your exquisite gaze makes good and true

It may be that we love most what we lack:

Sweet symmetry, proportion, harmony

A sculpted countenance; curls soft and black

Eyes dark enough a secret light to see

My ugliness makes your beauty most clear

For that, my gratitude is quite sincere