Xlix

And just this one face more! Pardon the bold pretence! May there not lurk some hint, struggle toward evidence In that compressed mouth, those strained nostrils, steadfast eyes Of utter passion, absolute self-sacrifice, Which--could I but subdue the wild grotesque, refine That bulge of brow, make blunt that nose's aquiline, And let, although compressed, a point of pulp appear I' the mouth--would give at last the portrait of Elvire?