If..                                                      8 
      ~Judith Anne Labriola

The latticed look of wintered-limbs
against a pale blue sky,
A tinge of Arctic air that blows with 
such a mournful cry, 
A cabaret in France, where lovers posture 
in their games, 
The ocean's changing tides that show 
no days are quite the same. 
A sudden glint of sunlight that reminds us 
of a prayer, 
A mother's gentle murmuring, a love 
that can't compare.
The roses that a lover places gently 
on the bed,
The agony of ecstasy, the permanence 
of dead. 
If we could do it over, would it ever be the
same?
Or if we did, and if we should, would it 
just be a game? 
I have no concrete answers, just a 
humble human plea,
just tell me that if given one wish, 
you'd do it then with me.

Eugène Delacroix (French, 1798-1863)
Marguerite au Rouet, 1828
No. 11 from the set of 18 lithographs of Goethe's Faust

Original digital image copyright
Davison Art Center
Wesleyan University
prior permission from the DAC required for any subsequent use