One sitting in a cavern by the sea,
Wrought for long days upon a block of stone;
He heard the rhythmic cadences, wind-blown
From tropic forests, where each giant tree
Was rich with music; and these seemed to be
The spell wherein that form divine was shown,
Which ruled his dream, a dream his soul had known
When life was young, and love from sorrow free.
They set the statue in a temple, where
The columned aisles were hushed, and dim, and vast,
And there its glorious beauty shone like flame;
And still men call the stone supremely fair,
But centuries have drifted swiftly past,
And silence holds the artist and his name.