Ah, mystic child of Beauty, nameless maid, br Dateless and fatherless, how long ago, br A Greek, with some rare sadness overweighed, br Shaped thee, perchance, and quite forgot his woe! br Or Raphael thy sweetness did bestow, br While magical his fingers o'er thee strayed, br Or that great pupil taught of Verrocchio br Redeemed thy still perfection from the shade br br That hides all fair things lost, and things unborn, br Where one has fled from me, that wore thy grace, br And that grave tenderness of thine awhile; br Nay, still in dreams I see her, but her face br Is pale, is wasted with a touch of scorn, br And only on thy lips I find her smile.