Клинтон Сколлард (Clinton Scollard)

The Statue

As perfect in their symmetry as thine,
O inarticulate marble lips, were those
My love once raised to mine, yet tinged with rose
And freighted with a redolence divine.
Her poise of head was queenly; fair and fine
Her alabaster arms that shamed the snows;
Her gracious bearing had thy pure repose,
And stately was she as the forest pine.

Knowledge sat throned upon her regal brow,
Round which her tresses rippled, bright as gold;
Sweet as a songbird's on a budding bough
The liquid voice that from her lips outrolled;
But lo! there came an awful change, and now
Thou, in thine icy hush, art not more cold!

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