PYGMALION TO GALATEA
O soulless Galatea! Thou art stone,
And yet my hands have given to thy form
A grace that never yet was seen of flesh,
And to thy brow a beauty never born.
But no—my throbbing heart and fevered brain
Ne'er held so fair a dream of womanhood;
My trembling hands but freed thee from the cold,
Relentless stone that held thy matchless form,
And thou didst live in some forgotten age
When men were gods and women were their queens.
And yet my hands have given to thy form
A grace that never yet was seen of flesh,
And to thy brow a beauty never born.
But no—my throbbing heart and fevered brain
Ne'er held so fair a dream of womanhood;
My trembling hands but freed thee from the cold,
Relentless stone that held thy matchless form,
And thou didst live in some forgotten age
When men were gods and women were their queens.
O peerless Galatea! Thou art free,
And I have wrought that rich deliverance.
What wild, ecstatic joy it was to see
Thy goddess features grow from out the stone,
As year by year I labored slowly on.
And, as I worked, it seemed thy noble face
Grew warm beneath my touch; I thought thy lips
Would surely speak when I had set them free;
But when I pressed them with my own, the twain
Were hard and cold and passionless as death.
And I have wrought that rich deliverance.
What wild, ecstatic joy it was to see
Thy goddess features grow from out the stone,
As year by year I labored slowly on.
And, as I worked, it seemed thy noble face
Grew warm beneath my touch; I thought thy lips
Would surely speak when I had set them free;
But when I pressed them with my own, the twain
Were hard and cold and passionless as death.
O heartless Galatea! Speak to me,
Though thou canst say but cold and cruel words;
For I would see thee move thy speechless lips
E'en though their breath did freeze my very soul.
Though thou canst say but cold and cruel words;
For I would see thee move thy speechless lips
E'en though their breath did freeze my very soul.
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