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<h2>A DISCOURAGING MODEL</h2>
<p>Just the airiest, fairiest slip of a thing,<br/>
With a Gainsborough hat, like a butterfly's wing,<br/>
Tilted up at one side with the jauntiest air,<br/>
And a knot of red roses sown in under there<br/>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where the shadows are lost in her hair.</span><br/>
<br/><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_134" id="Page_134"> [Pg 134]</SPAN></span>
Then a cameo face, carven in on a ground<br/>
Of that shadowy hair where the roses are wound;<br/>
And the gleam of a smile O as fair and as faint<br/>
And as sweet as the masters of old used to paint<br/>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Round the lips of their favorite saint!</span><br/>
<br/>
And that lace at her throat—and the fluttering hands<br/>
Snowing there, with a grace that no art understands<br/>
The flakes of their touches—first fluttering at<br/>
The bow—then the roses—the hair—and then that<br/>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Little tilt of the Gainsborough hat.</span><br/>
<br/>
What artist on earth, with a model like this,<br/>
Holding not on his palette the tint of a kiss,<br/>
Nor a pigment to hint of the hue of her hair,<br/>
Nor the gold of her smile—O what artist could dare<br/>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To expect a result half so fair?</span><br/></p>
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