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.<br /><br />Andrew Lang<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ideal-6/
