O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,"—that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.50
