To the Venus of Syracuse

O SILENT form of beauty! O divine
Body of woman given to mortal gaze,
Round which the ever-moving sculptural line
Meanders motionless, and clasps the ways
Of all men's longing in its pure embrace,
Moulding the marble vesture of desire —
What deep power hast thou to exalt our race,
And lovers' thoughts ennoble and inspire!

This is the form of her who ruled supreme
The master-lovers of antiquity;
Great spirits they were who could so fairly dream,
And in a woman's form divinely see
The loveliness unto the world unknown
Flow into being in the breathless stone.
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