English poem
The Lost Gioconda
by Florence Earle Coates (1850–1927)
The world is poorer, Italy's fair child, Lacking the face That for so long its heart beguiled; Nor hopeth to replace With all its riches multiplied, Thee, eloquent, alone, art-glorified!
But somewhere, Mona Lisa! quietly, With folded hands, And in thine eye's soft mockery The look that understands, Thou wearest, lost to us the while, Thine own inscrutable, unaging smile!