If he who is to paint you is to see you,
but cannot look at you and not go blind,
who then will have the skill to paint your portrait
with no offense to both you and his sight?
I sought to make you bloom in snow and roses;
but this would flatter roses and slight you;
two morning stars for eyes I sought to give you;
but how could stars hope that this could be true?
The sketch told me that it could not be done;
but then your mirror, catching your own glow,
assured it was exact in its reflection.
It renders you without unfitting light;
since you're from you yourself, the mirror holds
original, painter, brush and your perfection.