Poems (Terry, 1861)/A statue
A STATUE.
Dream divine and tender, Frozen into stone; Pall nor purple splendor Round thy grace is thrown;Thou standest like a star, clothed in thy light alone.
Silent with the passion Of thy new despair; In the spotless fashion That all angels wear;Like softly falling snow thy presence fills the air.
On thy lips half-parted, Sleeps a dreaming sigh; Love and hope departed Droop' thy pensive eye;And anguish on thy brow hath set her majesty.
Neither shame nor madness Touch thy spirit pure; Regally hath sadness Taught thee to endure;Earth passes at thy feet, but heaven is ever sure.
Like the languid tolling Of a funeral bell, Or the awful rolling Of the ocean's swell,Thou stillest sound with awe, through power's sublimest spell.
In what holy vision Of a midnight moon, Did thy shape Elysian Rise, like some sad tune,Through the rapt sculptor's soul, and turn his night to noon?
Utter thus forever, With resistless tongue, Higher thought than ever Bird or breeze hath sung;For Beauty never dies, and Grace is ever young.