Imprisoned in the marble block
— Lies Beauty; granite is her dress;
The strong may carve from living rock
— A lady like a lioness.

With hammer blow and chisel cut
— They make the angry Beauty leap.
For me the obdurate stone is shut;
— How shall I wake her from her sleep?

An acorn tossed against an oak,
— A hazel wand that turns — and look!
She parts the leaves, a pearly smoke,
— She cleaves the earth — a silver brook.