A Reed by the River/A Bas-Relief

by Virginia Woodward Cloud

A BAS-RELIEF

Pales, smiling upon the wall, touched by firelight's subtle guise,
Methinks that under your beauty's thrall, memory grows more wise;
For lo, it learns how at dusk you came threading the soft Italian grass,
While shepherds, marking your torch's flame, marvelled to see you pass;

How one there was who piped so sweet he told the music your passing made,
And melody haunting your flying feet fled the elusive shade,
A song so keen that it outlived all,—war and ruin and blood and tears,
Attic's towers and Roma's wall, and the dust of pillaging years;

Lived, endured and found its own,—one long since with his hand in clay,—
Who paused and harkened, as we have done, to the note of a by-gone day,
Harkened and knew your speeding grace, he with heart by the gods made mad,
Knew your immortal eyes, your face, worked in the sun and was glad;

Wrought for his temple and his day,—what keep we of the little we do?—
Even as we, he went his way, but had seen his Pales, too.
His fame, a breath; your doom, to sleep a thousand years under Roman dust,
But Beauty's promise is given to keep though chariot wheels be rust.

Behold, you reveal us each fair part,—the hillside fires of spice and yew,
Your gentle flocks, your tender art, your happy shepherds true;
That you never lived, knew bliss or tears, let the wise decree or the sage deride,
Beauty that fled through a thousand years enough that you never died!