A picture-frame for you to fill,
A paltry setting for your face,
A thing that has no worth until You lend it something of your grace I send (unhappy I that sing Laid by awhile upon the shelf) Because I would not send a thing Less charming than you are yourself. And happier than I, alas! (Dumb thing, I envy its delight) 'Twill wish you well, the looking-glass, And look you in the face to-night.
 
By Robert Louis Stevenson.