Classic Poem

I saw her bow'd by Time's relentless hand,
Calm as cut marble, cold and beautiful,
As if old sighs through the dim night of years,
Like frosted snow-flakes on the silent land,
Had fallen: and old laughter and old tears,
Old tenderness, old passion, spent and dead,
Had moulded her their stony monument:
While ghostly memory lent
Treasure of form and harmony to drape her head.

Proud-stooping statue! still her arm, up-rais'd,
Pointed the sceptre skyward, like a queen
Gleaning bright wonder from the world amaz'd,
Thrilling the firmament with rapturous awe;
Yet blind in giving light—unseeing, seen:
Self-wrapp'd in gloom of wisdom and deep law.
Oh, could I pluck (methought) from out yon breast
A share of her rich mystery, and feel
Flushing my soul with new adventurous zeal
The fiery perfume of that flame-born flower
Which grows in man to God: then I might wrest
Glad secrets from the past,—the golden dower
Of the world's sunrise and young glimmering East.