Robert W. Service

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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