Leave it to the Germans to solve a mystery and thereby add to the prose of life. Yeats is better, "He tells of the Perfect Beauty"
O cloud-pale eyelids, dream-dimmed eyes,
The poets labouring all their days
To build a perfect beauty in rhyme
Are overthrown by a woman’s gaze
And by the unlabouring brood of the skies:
And therefore my heart will bow, when dew
Is dropping sleep, until God burn time,
Before the unlabouring stars and you.
Thank you, Peter.
"In [Leonardo's] lifetime, the face certainly emerged like a revelation, because the rediscovery of ancient forms came from statues, and the eyes of statues have no expression, and therefore no soul. This mortal woman with her divine gaze triumphs over the sightless goddesses."