 | Studies from the Antique and Sketches from Nature |  |
108
PHIDIAS.
Am I so old, so feeble, and so faded,
That my right hand hath lost for evermore
The cunning of its prime? Is my light shaded,
And all the fruitful fancies that it bore?
My mind was once an orchard, ripe and sunny,
A forest opulent with flower and tree,
Where idlest bees might gather store of honey;
And hath my winter come? Ah, woe is me!
That my right hand hath lost for evermore
The cunning of its prime? Is my light shaded,
And all the fruitful fancies that it bore?
My mind was once an orchard, ripe and sunny,
A forest opulent with flower and tree,
Where idlest bees might gather store of honey;
And hath my winter come? Ah, woe is me!
I will go back again into my summer,
Into the spring-time and the mid-noon blaze,
And sit among my foliage, a fresh-comer,
To study what I did in ancient days.
In my past strength I'll bathe me as in ocean—
With mine own beauties fire my fading sight,
And kindle yet again mine old emotion
In my own labours, and my youth's delight.
Into the spring-time and the mid-noon blaze,
And sit among my foliage, a fresh-comer,
To study what I did in ancient days.
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With mine own beauties fire my fading sight,
And kindle yet again mine old emotion
In my own labours, and my youth's delight.
Lo! here the young Apollo! lithe and lustrous
In the immortal beauty of my thought!
His lips apart with joy, his rich hair clustrous
Over his godlike brow! his right hand fraught
With power and majesty; a visible glory
Veiling him over, as a mist the sun
New risen o'er the mountain summits hoary
To wake the world! And this mine hands have done!
In the immortal beauty of my thought!
His lips apart with joy, his rich hair clustrous
Over his godlike brow! his right hand fraught
With power and majesty; a visible glory
Veiling him over, as a mist the sun
New risen o'er the mountain summits hoary
To wake the world! And this mine hands have done!
Lo! Pallas! with her face of calm, sweet sorrow—
A sorrow of divinest wisdom born—
Looks upwards to the stars, as if to borrow
Comfort from them, to cast on men forlorn.
And I, too, fashioned her: my brain conceived her!
Ah, no! I must have seen her, must have known
That she came unto me, and I received her,
And carved from life the vision of the stone.
A sorrow of divinest wisdom born—
Looks upwards to the stars, as if to borrow
Comfort from them, to cast on men forlorn.
And I, too, fashioned her: my brain conceived her!
Ah, no! I must have seen her, must have known
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And carved from life the vision of the stone.
And lo! beside her, beautiful and tender,
White as the ocean-foam from which she sprang,
Great Aphrodite! in her nude, pure splendour,
At whose glad birth the expectant planets rang.
Lovely! most lovely! fondled by the Graces,
Even in the marble where she stands, and showers
From her lips kisses, from her arms embraces,
And from her eyes looks that unfold the flowers.
White as the ocean-foam from which she sprang,
Great Aphrodite! in her nude, pure splendour,
At whose glad birth the expectant planets rang.
Lovely! most lovely! fondled by the Graces,
Even in the marble where she stands, and showers
From her lips kisses, from her arms embraces,
And from her eyes looks that unfold the flowers.
Ye shall suffice me, O ye fair creations
Of mine exulting prime! Though dim mine eyes—
Though I be quite forgotten of the nations—
Here I am young for ever, and arise
Amid my youthful fancies, time-defiant!
The old fire burns within me as of yore;
I stand upon the Past, and, self-reliant,
Know that my name shall live for evermore.
Of mine exulting prime! Though dim mine eyes—
Though I be quite forgotten of the nations—
Here I am young for ever, and arise
Amid my youthful fancies, time-defiant!
The old fire burns within me as of yore;
I stand upon the Past, and, self-reliant,
Know that my name shall live for evermore.
| Studies from the Antique and Sketches from Nature | |