Poems (Kennedy)/Alien of The Centuries
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 loveThat 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.