Classic Poem

WHEREIN HE ENVIES PYGMALION

When Simon at my wish the lofty dream
Conceived, which put the pencil in his hand,
Had he, who could such loveliness command,
But added voice and intellect, it would seem
This breast a storm of sighs were spared, that deem
Of little worth what strikes the world as grand:
Since, to my foolish sight she looks so bland,
I cannot but read promise in the beam.
When, holding further parley with her eyes,
Meseems almost she smiles as if she heard;
Almost, meseems, almost her mouth replies.
Ah, what delight, Pygmalion, what reward,
Vivid and flushed and young, a thousand fold
To have obtained what I burn once to hold!