Yesterday, at the art show,
I saw her, and yesterday
My heart from me flew away
After that woman to follow.

She sits on the bare ground to rest,
On canvas her vigil she keeps:
The tired spouse at her feet sleeps
And a naked babe at her breast.

Among the scattered straw is seen
The peeled remnants of their last meal:
Her draping mantle she can feel
As if a death shroud it had been.

On the grim earth for the weary
Grow neither violet nor thorn,
From a loving home they're torn
And the sky is dark and dreary!…

That lovely woman made away
With my heart and will not free it,
At the proud salon's exhibit
Of masters of yesterday!