I. In youth he wrought, with eyes ablur, Lorn-faced and long of hair -- In youth -- in youth he painted her A sister of the air -- Could clasp her not, but felt the stir Of pinions everywhere.
II. She lured his gaze, in braver days, And tranced him sirenwise; And he did paint her, through a haze Of sullen paradise, With scars of kisses on her face And embers in her eyes.
III. And now -- nor dream nor wild conceit -- Though faltering, as before -- Through tears he paints her, as is meet, Tracing the dear face o'er With lilied patience meek and sweet As Mother Mary wore.
End of title
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