University of Virginia Library


83

HER STATUE

A sculptor who adored his fair young wife,
Wrought her as Purity from marble pure.
But snatched by sudden malady out of life,
She vanished, leaving that pale portraiture
In sanctity of pathos to endure.
Greatly the sculptor mourned her. But one day,
Searching among old letters of the dead,
He found, with pangs of anguish and dismay,
She had never loved him—that her love, instead,
Elsewhere with affluent ardour had been shed.
‘Ah, wiliest hypocrite!’ he cried, and raised
His mallet, threatening that majestic stone
Whose white curves many a eulogist had praised
For proofs of genius that by power unknown
Such charm of chastity could so enthrone.
But soon, with softening tempest of intent,
Though all his desolate soul was yet astir,
‘Nay, it shall live,’ he sighed, ‘the embodiment
Of love's ideal, and shall to art aver
Through ages my past passionate faith in her!’

84

Time fled. Innumerous wayfarers had won
That bourne of shadow and silence all shall win;
Yet still with rapture did throngs gaze upon
This flower of sculpture that for years had been
Blossoming so stainless from a soil of sin!
Florence.