Or minstrel's lute to sweetest music waken—
I came to paint this subject of my choice;
My place was taken!
I muttered angry words between my teeth;
I could not see the features of la bella,
I only saw a dress and cloak beneath
A great umbrella.
Perhaps some girl, her hair a touzled mop,
Plain-featured, round in shoulder, unpoetic,
With hygienic boots that flatly flop—