On a Cast from an Antique

Headless, without an arm, a figure leans By something vaguely Greek,—a fount, an urn; Dim stairs climb past her where one’s thoughts discern A temple or a palace. Some great queen’s Daughter art thou? or humbly one of those Who serve a queen? Is this the sacred thing That holds thy child, thy husband, or thy king? Or lightly-laughing water? No one knows. A woman once, now merely womanhood, In gentle pose of un-selfconscious dream That consecrates all ministry of love. Gone are thy temples and the gods thereof, But through the ruin of centuries sublime Heart speaks to heart, and still is understood.

Collection: 
English
George Pellew

More from Poet

  • Death

    Calm death, God of crossed hands and passionless eyes, Thou God that never heedest gift nor prayer, Men blindly call thee cruel, unaware That everything is dearer since it dies. Worn by the chain of years, without surprise, The wise man welcomes thee, and leaves the glare Of noisy sunshine...

  • On a Cast from an Antique

    Headless, without an arm, a figure leans By something vaguely Greek,—a fount, an urn; Dim stairs climb past her where one’s thoughts discern A temple or a palace. Some great queen’s Daughter art thou? or humbly one of those Who serve a queen? Is this the sacred thing That holds thy child, thy...