22
The Sculptor's Reverie.
There was marble half hewn—great blocks in the rough;
Now prophet, now sybil, now sage
Seemed starting to life from inanimate stone,
Like ghosts of some evil presage.
Now prophet, now sybil, now sage
Seemed starting to life from inanimate stone,
Like ghosts of some evil presage.
But suddenly fell on his spirit a trance,
No longer in silence he mused,
A crowd of pale phantasms thronged the hot room,
And there rose a deep murmur confused.
No longer in silence he mused,
A crowd of pale phantasms thronged the hot room,
And there rose a deep murmur confused.
But the click of the mallet—the buzz of the file
Soon ceased to enliven the calm,
And the sculptor was lost in the silver of sleep—
His heavy brow dropt in his palm.
Soon ceased to enliven the calm,
And the sculptor was lost in the silver of sleep—
His heavy brow dropt in his palm.
THE REVERIE.
I dreamt that the embers had swooned on the hearth,
That spark upon spark fled away;
Each fountain of flame, in a basin of gold,
From ripples danced off into spray.
That spark upon spark fled away;
Each fountain of flame, in a basin of gold,
From ripples danced off into spray.
The cold chill of evening fell dark on my soul,
Down dropping in death-dew of night,
And heavily bending each flower of thought,
Which lately had blossomed to sight.
Down dropping in death-dew of night,
And heavily bending each flower of thought,
Which lately had blossomed to sight.
