On a Bas-Relief of Pelops and Hippodameia
Thus did a nameless and immortal hand
— Make of rough stone, the thing least like to life,
— The husband and the wife
That the Most High, ere His creation, planned.
Hundreds of years they lay, unsunned, unscanned,
— Where the waves cut more smoothly than the knife,
— What time the winds tossed them about in strife,
And filled those lips and eyes with the soft sand.
Art, that from Nature stole the human form
— By slow device of brain, by simple strength,
Lent it to Nature's artless force to keep.
So with the human sculptor wrought the storm
— To round those lines of beauty, till at length
A perfect thing was rescued from the deep.
— Make of rough stone, the thing least like to life,
— The husband and the wife
That the Most High, ere His creation, planned.
Hundreds of years they lay, unsunned, unscanned,
— Where the waves cut more smoothly than the knife,
— What time the winds tossed them about in strife,
And filled those lips and eyes with the soft sand.
Art, that from Nature stole the human form
— By slow device of brain, by simple strength,
Lent it to Nature's artless force to keep.
So with the human sculptor wrought the storm
— To round those lines of beauty, till at length
A perfect thing was rescued from the deep.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.