Mona Lisa.

Leonardo da Vinci is said to have been four years employed upon the portrait of Mona Lisa, a fair Florentine, without being able to come up to the idea of her beauty.     Artist! lay the brush aside;     Twilight gathers chill and gray;     Turn the picture to the wall, -     Thou hast wrought in vain to-day.     Thrice twelve months have hastened by     Since thy canvas first grew bright     With that brow's bewitching beauty,     And that dark eye's melting light.     But the early morning shineth     On thy tireless labors yet,     And the portrait stands before thee     Till the evening sun has set.     Faultless is the robe that falleth     Round that form of matchless grace;     Faultless is the softened outline     Of the fair and oval face.     Thou hast caught the wondrous beauty     Of the round cheek's roseate hue,     And the full, red lips are smiling     As this morn they smiled on you.     To that Lady thou hast given     Immortality below;     Wherefore then, with moody glances,     Dost thou from thy labor go?     From the living face of beauty     Beams the soul's expressive ray,     And with all thy god-like genius     This thou never canst portray.     Of the countless throng around me     Each hath labors like to thine,     Each, methinks, some Mona Lisa     In his spirit's inmost shrine.     Visions haunt us from our childhood     Of a love so pure, so true,     Time and tears, and care and anguish,     Leave it steadfast, fair and new; -     Visions that elude for ever,     As the silent years depart,     Some unhappy ones and weary, -     Mona Lisas of the heart.     Gleams of that divine completeness     God's angelic ones attain,     Pass amid our toils before us,     And we emulate in vain.     Poet fancies crowd the spirit,     We would print upon the scroll -     But that perfect utterance faileth -     Mona Lisas of the soul.