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