Poems (Shore)/Like to a Statue
LIKE TO A STATUE
Like to a statue, which though wanting breath,
Doth a fixed look of breathing passion wear,
E'en so her face, pale as the face of death,
Had yet a living sorrow graven there;
And all the lines of it were lines of woe,
As if some cunning hand had carved them so.
Doth a fixed look of breathing passion wear,
E'en so her face, pale as the face of death,
Had yet a living sorrow graven there;
And all the lines of it were lines of woe,
As if some cunning hand had carved them so.
More ghost than living from that death she rose,
Bearing upon her, for its outward seal,
Eternal paleness, inly charmed from woes
Which health and strength can fancy or can feel;
Untouched by hope, by fear, by hate, by love,
She, spirit-like, through fire and flood could move.
Bearing upon her, for its outward seal,
Eternal paleness, inly charmed from woes
Which health and strength can fancy or can feel;
Untouched by hope, by fear, by hate, by love,
She, spirit-like, through fire and flood could move.
Machine-like, her corporeal senses still
Performed their functions as she moved 'mongst men;
But that dead soul that swayed them once at will
Returned not to its living life again.
She never sighed, but sadder than all sighs
Were those unsmiling smiles that could not reach the eyes.
Performed their functions as she moved 'mongst men;
But that dead soul that swayed them once at will
Returned not to its living life again.
She never sighed, but sadder than all sighs
Were those unsmiling smiles that could not reach the eyes.
Thus, of all purpose utterly bereaved,
She lived, scarce knowing that she lived, forlorn;
With past and future for a blank she lived,
Wished not to die nor grieved that she was born.
She lived, scarce knowing that she lived, forlorn;
With past and future for a blank she lived,
Wished not to die nor grieved that she was born.