With palette laden br She sat, as I passed her, br A dainty maiden br Before an Old Master. br br What mountain-top is br She bent upon? Ah, br She neatly copies br Murillo's Madonna. br br But rapt and brimming br The eyes' full chalice says br The heart builds dreaming br Its fairy-palaces. br br * * * br br The eighteenth year rolled br By, ere returning, br I greeted the dear old br Scenes with yearning. br br With palette laden br She sat, as I passed her, br A faded maiden br Before an Old Master. br br But what is she doing? br The same thing still--lo, br Hotly pursuing br That very Murillo! br br Her wrist never falters; br It keeps her, that poor wrist, br With panels for altars br And daubs for the tourist. br br And so she has painted br Through years unbrightened, br Till hopes have fainted br And hair has whitened. br br But rapt and brimming br The eyes' full chalice says br The heart builds dreaming br Its fairy-palaces.