Josephine's Portrait

That portrait there, upon the wall?
I don't really know when it was hung.
It has been here, in the great hall,
For as long as minstrels here have sung.
There is a name in the corner- Josephine.
But no one knows what that may mean.

Why, you ask? Why, no one of that name
Has ever lived in my proud line.
Might she have been some dark shame
They cut off to protect the vine?
Maybe; maybe; it might be so,
But how dark could someone like her grow?

Look at her face; you will see what I mean.
She is in light, her eyes proud.
There is something about her of the queen
That sets her apart from the common crowd.
Yes, there is something of the queen
About her, dark-eyed Josephine.

Of course, that could be no excuse.
Dark eyes could hide a soul gone mad.
But then, what would be the use
Of keeping this portrait, sweet and sad,
In the middle of the great hall?
Why have the portrait done at all?

Yes, walk closer if you will.
Trace the frame thick with sunlit dust,
And wonder at the face so still,
And wonder who looked at her with lust,
And who might have looked with love,
When she, garbed in white like wingéd dove,

Moved and danced upon the floor,
Tossed her hair to send light fleeing,
And laughed tirelessly; nevermore
Will come laughter from her being.
She is a silent and frozen thing,
Unable to speak, or laugh, or sing.

There is other wording on the frame?
I had never noticed that before.
I had thought that only her name
In careful lettering that picture bore.
Are you sure those are letters? Filigree
Or simple decoration they could be.

No. I think I recognize them now.
They are sigils such as a wizard uses
To bind a demon that will not bow
To his will, or coaxing, or other ruses.
How strange, to find them sitting here!
Before a woman whom someone held dear!

Do you think I could rub them off, or erase
Those markings that disfigure her?
Look, one sigil even crosses her face!
It binds her mouth back from whisper
Of who has done this, and how to undo
The markings that make me sad too.

You think that she looks not sad?
Look at her mouth, that gleam of eyes-
No, I do not think those eyes look mad,
Or the mouth snarling; a scream of surprise
She might have uttered. Who can say
Why the artist painted her this way?

We do not know who she was or the whole
Of what she did. What was her story?
But painters often catch the soul,
At last when they paint with such glory.
The artist painted her like a queen,
And that, at least for me, is Josephine.