Are the sea-breezes tossing her hair?
For closed are the ancient green shutters
In the house on North Washington Square.
So you, too, are trying to find her?
Then climb up these stairways with me,
That twist and grow blinder and blinder,
Till the skylight near heaven you see.
Is the sun my dull studio gilding?
Ah, no, it is Kitty sits there—
She has moved to the Studio Building