These paintings, why they mock as if they spoke
Talking loud music, like to things that live
The lips are parted as if silence broke—
Into sweet language—such delights they give
Such happy visions to our fancies weave
The cheek seems warmer in the maidens face
From our too ardent look—the bright eyes live
And look from out the canvas on the place
While the ruby lips seem mooving on the face