The Same, Continued

Had I the power to express your face
In colored lines unto my satisfaction
I would not bate a minute of my pace
To bring that claim into the name of action.
I would with practiced hand lay out each line
To make you see yourself as I perceive;
And in a later age each stroke of mine
Would make those who can never see you grieve.
But I cannot paint pictures to my sight
Or even with my words sufficiently.
It must suffice me to say "if I might"
And then regret my inability.
But know when I see life in art made true
I wish that I could do the same for you.