Eleanor Rogers Cox: To a Portrait of Whistler in the Brooklyn Art Museum

To a Portrait of Whistler in the Brooklyn Art Museum

Eleanor Rogers Cox

What waspish whim of Fate  Was this that bade you here Hold dim, unhonored state,  No single courtier near?
Is there, of all who pass,  No choice, discerning few To poise the ribboned glass  And gaze enwrapt on you?
Sword-soul that from its sheath  Laughed leaping to the fray, How calmly underneath  Goes Brooklyn on her way!
Quite heedless of that smile —  Half-devil and half-god, Your quite unequalled style,  The airy heights you trod.
Ah, could you from earth's breast  Come back to take the air, What matter here for jest  Most exquisite and rare!
But since you may not come,  Since silence holds you fast, Since all your quips are dumb  And all your laughter past —
I give you mine instead,  And something with it too That Brooklyn leaves unsaid —  The world's fine homage due.
Ah, Prince, you smile again —  "My faith, the court is small!" I know, dear James — but then  It's I or none at all!