So slim and shining, to keep her still.
“‘At last we stood at our mother’s knee.
* * * * * * *
You, sir, know
That you on the canvas are to repeat
Things that are fairest, things most sweet,
Woods and corn fields and mulberry-tree,
But, oh, that look of reproachful woe!
High as the heavens your name I’ll shout,
If you paint me the picture, and leave that out.’”