shapeless marble still he wrought
With faith and firm assurance.
Many came
Amid their aimless wanderings, and stood
Beside that quiet worker, wondering
At the majestic purpose on his brow,
And vapouring forth their self-important views,
That turned his course as little as the air
Swerveth the eagle in his lightning flight.
Many applauded with patronic warmth
And empty commendation, and no scorn
Curled his proud lip, not one defiant word
Echoed their nothings into transient life.
But as the marble grew beneath his hands
To shape and comeliness, his soul-deep eyes
Flashed with the joy of high accomplishment,
And scanned each valiant critic with a glance
That sifted all his littleness away.

Thus did he till his work stood perfected,
A woman beautiful with youth and grace,
But like a Vestal singled from her sex
To show the beauty of pure innocence.
Her form was such as rapt Endymion
Saw on the heights of Latmos when he slept
And dreamed Heaven down to him. A glorious shape
That to the brightness of ethereal charms
Join'd the familiar sweetness of a maid;
A soft clear forehead circled by the light
That heaven sets lambent on its imaged self;
A face that beaming on the heart of man
As by a silent teaching in the sense
Makes goodness natural. Upon each limb
Grace laid its sweet commandment lovingly,
Whilst the fair bosom glowed with tenderness,
As from the fulness of a soul beneath,
Woman's divinest attribute possessed
Unsullied and entire; and through the frame
And every feature radiating went
A lovely sense of gentleness and love.

Bright is the summer of Cyprus,
Undimm'd the skies and clear,
Blue and clear as a maiden's eyes
That loves and hath never felt sadness.
Then, Time is a sunlit river
Flowing 'mid flowers and green pastures
Brightly onward to heaven!
There is music pervading the air,
Music of voice and of instrument,
And the silver toning of laughters
Blendeth in jubilant chorus;
Bands of maidens and youths
With flowing garments of purple,
And zones jewelled and bright
As the mystic girdle of Venus,
Wreathed with myrtle and roses,
And their beauty wantonly bared
To the swimming glances of passion,
Evermore sweep o'er the pathways,
Strewing sweet flowers as they go
To the sacred altars of Venus
'Nea