Poems (Kennedy)/Alien of The Centuries

by Sara Beaumont Kennedy

ALIEN OF THE CENTURIES

IN Paris—in the Louvre where come
 The devotees to genius' shrine,
Where is foregathered, piece by piece,
 The art that man counts half divine—
    You hold your court.
Impassive alien, you look down
 Upon your worshippers, and give no sign,
    Venus de Milo!

Whose hope you were, whose dream fulfilled
 No living man has known;
What scenes you shared in that dim age
 Ere Melos was to brown sand blown
    We may not say.
Flotsam from some far century
 The world's heart claims you for its own,
    Venus de Milo.

Claims you, although it cannot read
 The cryptic scroll of vague unrest,
Nor wake the soul the sculptor hid
 Deep in that pallid, pulseless breast;
    For mighty love
That wrought you from the shapeless block
 Your immortality confessed,
    Venus de Milo.

O'er Melos Isle the winds still blow,
 Still runs the tide with azure gleams,
The buried city sleeps and sleeps
 Just as you see it in your dreams
    Here in the Louvre.
The clouds like golden chariots drift,
 And in their wake a sea bird screams,
    Venus de Milo.