Classic Poem

The sculptor in the marble found
Her hidden from the world around,
As in a donjon keep:
With gentle hand he took away
The coverlet that o'er her lay,
But left her fast asleep.

And still she slumbers: e'en as he
Who saw in far futurity
What now before us lies—
The fairest vision that the stream
Of night, subsiding, leaves agleam
Beneath the noonday skies.