The Art of Painting (Johannes Vermeer) Sonnet #1
He draws aside the brocaded curtain
As if to reveal an intimacy
Tantamount to an indiscretion,
Though it is just to allow us to see
A portrait painter paused at his easel,
And his model, a young woman demure
Beyond conceiving, who, a tease, will
Smile, eyes closed, supremely sure
The man has never seen a lovelier.
Perhaps the painter never has either,
And though he has a warm affection
For searing late afternoon sunlight,
For stillness rendered into perfection,
It is all a blind for sexual delight.
