The Perfect Face.

The Graces, on a summer day, Grew serious for a moment; yea, They thought in rivalry to trace The outline of a perfect face.

Each used a rosebud for a brush, And, while it glowed with sunset's blush, Each painted on the evening sky, And each a star used for the eye.

They finished. Each a curtaining cloud Drew back, and each exclaimed aloud: "Behold, we three have drawn the same, From the same model!" Ah, her name?

I know. I saw the pictures grow. I saw them falter, fade, and go. I know the model. Oft she lures My heart. The face, my sweet, was yours.