And so on through long months and weary years
Till, losing heart, I'd toss my brush aside
Leaving the thing unfinished as it was—
Adding this broken promise to my last.
There's Raphael with his wide unanxious eyes,
He does his work as though it were his play;
He never talks of fame, but sings the while
He paints the Virgin with Lord Jesus Christ—
Goes to the door, throws kisses to a child,
Goes to the window, smiles to some slim girl,