The gipsy mother could afford no stone,
Her little lassie's nameless grave to mark,
Her baby Nita, lying there alone,
Lapped in the old earth's bosom, cold and dark.

But one day in an old-junkshop she found,
And bought with her last pence, a statuette:
And so, returning to the burial-ground,
Upon the tiny new-made grave she set

Venus di Milo: and still love's high Queen,
Born of the beauty of the breaking wave,
In marble immortality serene
Keeps vigil o'er the gipsy baby's grave.