A day of mist, of mingled rain and sun;
Four years before me silently she's sat
And smiled to see me strive to catch her smile
In liquid paint, with canvas and with brush,
So that her eyes, searching, inscrutable,
May question her sons' sons when she is dust.
I only just begin to know her face.
To learn its sudden changes I have paid
The skill'dest men in all our Tuscan vales,
Harpists, lute-players, masters of the viol,