With art most consummate by masterhand
I see a maze of beings and of things.
I can but see a little at a time,
My sight is limited, the view is vast,
The picture disconcertingly complex.
But often, here and there, a brilliant spot,
A woman’s figure in life’s tapestry
Attracts my gaze and holds me in its spell.
And, like a child that’s crying for the moon,
My hands would grasp that which delights mine eye,