Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective that is best painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictured lies,
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art,
They draw but what they see, know not the heart.
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective that is best painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictured lies,
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art,
They draw but what they see, know not the heart.
I also used Shakespeare (Sonnet XXIV) which occasionally makes its way into this project as well. The magazine images are from Trish's endless stash of interesting materials. Broken hearts, lots of tears (the Moscow fire, the death of Prince Andrei and Petya, the grief of Princess Marya and Natasha. -- Lola
Lola Baltzell
from page 655-656, volume 2 of original text
collage, ink
made 11/4/11
Pevear/Volokhonsky translation page 1137-1139
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