Classic Poem

How comes it, Lady, what experience must
believe, long taught, that in hard mountain grain
more sure the living image shall remain
than he who made it, whom the years make dust?

Cause to effect gives way; and so 'tis just
that Nature own Art for her suzerain:
in my fair craft I see and prove it plain
that with the work nor time nor death keeps trust.

Therefore, in mode of colour or of stone,
my hand shall yet secure that we not die,
fashioning either forth in living guise;

that, even a thousand years when we are gone,
'twill yet be seen how fair thou wert, and I
how worn, but, that I loved thee, not unwise.