Art piece poem: A Capriote, John Singer Sargent

I found her in the field,

Resting with nature as a fairy.

To my reverent calls she did not yield,

Yet my heart still grew merry.

The beating was usually anxious at best,

But watching her meditate amongst the flowers

Soothed and slowed that monster in my chest –

This being the least impressive of her powers.

Nature reacted to her same as my heart;

The tree she leaned on molded to her frame

For her comfort, or else was made for her from the start –

I feel the tree’s purpose and my own are the same.

If she chose to lean on me, I would melt

Against her, bend to her will, ’til my love is felt.

https://collections.mfa.org/objects/32955

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