The marble index of a mind foreverVoyaging through strange seas of thought, alone.
Men are we, and must grieve when even the ShadeOf that which once was great is passed away.
Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.
And the fresh air of incense-breathing mornShall wooingly embrace it.
Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room.
And the cold marble leapt to life a God.
The sculptor does not work for the anatomist, but for the common observer of life and nature.
You are fifty years old and would worship a day old statue!
Then marble, soften'd into life, grew warm.
Not from a vain or shallow thoughtHis awful Jove young Phidias brought.
Login ...
