My Madonna

I haled me a woman from the street, 
Shameless, but, oh, so fair! 
I bade her sit in the model's seat 
And I painted her sitting there. 

I hid all trace of her heart unclean; 
I painted a babe at her breast; 
I painted her as she might have been 
If the Worst had been the Best. 

She laughed at my picture and went away. 
Then came, with a knowing nod, 
A connoisseur, and I heard him say; 
"'Tis Mary, the Mother of God." 

So I painted a halo round her hair, 
And I sold her and took my fee, 
And she hangs in the church of Saint Hillaire, 
Where you and all may see. 

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