In the Philosopher's Study

After Rembrandt

The heating fire's glow
Disperses the smoky air and fills
The tongs that prod
At the logs; by the foot of the stair

Its flicker frames a servant's
Face, streaks her rag-worn cape,
The wrinkled skin,
And eyes that have seen sin.

She hears a murmur interspersed
In the flow of the whisper that burns,
And shrugs, and turns: eyes half-closed,

His forehead bent, as if in thought,
The master nods. Sunlight streaming

In through the window dances
On the scowling walls and climbs
The bottom of the steps
And falls; it failed
Half-way between the floors:

It swerves and heads back out of doors.