| |
| A THOUSAND silent years ago, | |
| The twilight faint and pale | |
| Was drawing o’er the sunset glow | |
| Its soft and shadowy veil; | |
| |
| When from his work the Sculptor stayed | 5 |
| His hand, and, turned to one | |
| Who stood beside him, half in shade, | |
| Said, with a sigh, “’T is done. | |
| |
| “Thus much is saved from chance and change, | |
| That waits for me and thee; | 10 |
| Thus much—how little!—from the range | |
| Of Death and Destiny. | |
| |
| “Phryne, thy human lips shall pale, | |
| Thy rounded limbs decay,— | |
| Nor love nor prayers can aught avail | 15 |
| To bid thy beauty stay; | |
| |
| “But there thy smile for centuries | |
| On marble lips shall live,— | |
| For Art can grant what Love denies, | |
| And fix the fugitive. | 20 |
| |
| “Sad thought! nor age nor death shall fade | |
| The youth of this cold bust; | |
| When this quick brain and hand that made, | |
| And thou and I are dust! | |
| |
| “When all our hopes and fears are dead, | 25 |
| And both our hearts are cold, | |
| And love is like a tune that ’s played, | |
| And life a tale that ’s told, | |
| |
| “This senseless stone, so coldly fair, | |
| That love nor life can warm, | 30 |
| The same enchanting look shall wear, | |
| The same enchanting form. | |
| |
| “Its peace no sorrow shall destroy; | |
| Its beauty age shall spare | |
| The bitterness of vanished joy, | 35 |
| The wearing waste of care. | |
| |
| “And there upon that silent face | |
| Shall unborn ages see | |
| Perennial youth, perennial grace, | |
| And sealed serenity. | 40 |
| |
| “And strangers, when we sleep in peace, | |
| Shall say, not quite unmoved, | |
| ‘So smiled upon Praxiteles | |
| The Phryne whom he loved!’” | |
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