To my Wife

By George Sterling

Not beauty of the marble set
    To Art's intensest line,
Nor depth of light and color met,
    Tho' all indeed are thine—

Not these thy loveliness impart,
    For, wrought by wiser Hands,
The charm that makes thee all thou art
    Beyond transition stands;

And surer fealty to thee,
    O fairest! I confess,
For that beyond all fair I see
    The grace of tenderness,

Past Art's endeavor to portray
    Or poet's word to reach;
For all that Beauty seems to say
    Is told in feebler speech.
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