She was humble and obedient
Sat meekly for weeks
While the painter took glory in his work
Went on from day to day
She was a maiden of rarest beauty
All light and smiles and frolicsome
Loving and cherishing all things
Hating the art as her rival
He would not see the light which fell
So ghastly in that turret
Withered the health and spirit of his bride
Who pined to all but him
Vivid light presents a portrait
Flashing candles on the canvas
Dreamy stupor stealing over
Senses that recede from me
She was a maiden of rarest beauty
All light and smiles and frolicsome
Loving and cherishing all things
Hating the art as her rival
As the labor drew near its conclusion
The painter wild with ardor
He would not see the tints he used
Were drawn from her cheeks
And when but one stroke remained
And then the tint was placed
He stood entranced beside his work
His wife sat pallid and dead