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The
Retoucher [In
this poem Lord Byron is retouched, and as a consequence spoilt, by a
photographer]
He
knew "Garth" went in for the Lead,
He
followed, thus, the mania spread. -
Before
his swift, effacing fingers
Vanish
the lines where passion lingers;
He
marks upon the withered fair
The
fracture of the nose that's there;
It
flies with furrowed lines that streak
Adown,
athwart, the freckled cheek;
And
with no inartistic eye
(But
custom wins, he weeps, not now,)
He
models that chill, changeless brow,
Whose
flabbiness, or apathy
Appals
the gazing sitter's heart -
(What
knoweth such as she of art?)
The
face she dreads, yet dwells upon,
Flabby,
but young; ah! youth alone,
Of
all the virtues most seraphic,
Hides
every sin that's photographic
A
Diston JUN. (With a thousand
apologies to the gentleman whom I have taken the liberty to retouch)
Photography 26 May 1892
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