 | Laurella and other poems |  |
224
IN THE LOUVRE.
A dingy picture: others passed it byWithout a second glance. To me it seemed
Mine somehow, yet I knew not how, nor why:
It hid some mystic thing I once had dreamed,
As I suppose. A palace-porch there stood,
With massy pillars and long front, where gleamed
Most precious sculptures; but all scarred and seamed
By ruining Time. There, in a sullen mood,
A man was pacing o'er the desolate floor
Of weedy marble; and the bitter waves
Of the encroaching sea crawled to his feet,
Gushing round tumbled blocks. I conned it o'er.
‘Age-mouldering creeds!’ said I. ‘A dread sea raves
To whelm the temples of our fond conceit.’
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