Classic Poem

Millions of men have said: " Her face is fair, "
And so say travelers, sailing down a stream,
Of some grand palace, lovely as a dream,
Set on the shore, outlined against the air.

But little do such far-off gazers share
The mansion's beauty, catching not a gleam
Of that interior charm that makes it seem,
To those who know it, rich beyond compare.

Yes, thou art fair, but they have higher praise
Who thy rich-treasured mind have looked upon
And seen thee actress of thy own sweet will!
Yet now art thou bereft us many days,
And even the Public, thy Pygmalion,
Doth mourn its Galatea, lost and still!