LOVE'S IMAGES.
WITHIN your hands, my life is like soft clay
Moulded at will,—or better, like the snow
Of marble, that in Athens long ago
Was beaten to such glorious form, to-day
Bespeaking honor for those eastern climes.
Your life beats on the marble of my heart:
Oh, strike with care! let every blow have art
Of love and reverence. As in those old times
Beyond the seas, were wrought with wondrous skill
Loves, demons, angels, saints; so may your hand
Dear sculptor Love, make what you will; may fill
A heart's white temple, beautiful and grand
With base or holy figures. In each nave
May put a god, a demon, saint or slave.
Moulded at will,—or better, like the snow
Of marble, that in Athens long ago
Was beaten to such glorious form, to-day
Bespeaking honor for those eastern climes.
Your life beats on the marble of my heart:
Oh, strike with care! let every blow have art
Of love and reverence. As in those old times
Beyond the seas, were wrought with wondrous skill
Loves, demons, angels, saints; so may your hand
Dear sculptor Love, make what you will; may fill
A heart's white temple, beautiful and grand
With base or holy figures. In each nave
May put a god, a demon, saint or slave.