|
Classic and Contemporary Poetry
PYGMALION THE SCULPTOR, by ROBERT WILLIAMS BUCHANAN Poem Explanation Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Upon the very morn I should have wed Last Line: In the long toil of love made meek by tears. Alternate Author Name(s): Maitland, Thomas Subject(s): Pygmalion | |||
UPON the very morn I should have wed Jove put his silence in a mourning house; And, coming fresh from feast, I saw her lie In stainless marriage samite, white and cold, With orange blossoms in her hair, and gleams Of the ungiven kisses of the bride Playing about the edges of her lips. Then I, Pygmalion, kissed her as she slept, And drew my robe across my face, whereon The midnight revel lingered dark, and prayed; And the sore trouble hollowed out my heart To hatred of a harsh unhallowed youth As I glode forth. Next, day by day, my soul Grew conscious of itself, and of its fief Within the shadow of her grave: therewith Wakened a thirst for silence such as dwells Under the ribs of death; whence slowly grew Old instincts which had tranced me to tears In mine unsinewed boyhood; sympathies Full of faint odors and of music faint Like buds of roses blowing, till I felt Her voice come down from heaven on my soul, And stir it as a wind that droppeth down Unseen, unfelt, unheard, until its breath Trembles the shadows in a sleeping lake. And the voice said, "Pygmalion," and "Behold," I answered, "I am here;" when thus the voice: "Put men behind thee, take thy tools, and choose A rock of marble, white as is a star; Cleanse it and make it pure, and fashion it After mine image; heal thyself; from grief Comes glory, like a rainbow from a cloud, For surely life and death, which dwell apart In grosser human sense, conspire to make The breathless beauty and eternal joy Of sculptured shapes in stone. Wherefore thy life Shall purify itself, and heal itself In the long toil of love made meek by tears." I barred the entrance-door to this my tower Against the hungry world; I hid above The mastiff-murmur of the town, I prayed In my pale chamber. Then I wrought, and chose A rock of marble white as is a star, And to her silent image fashioned clay, And purified myself, and healed myself, In the long toil of love made meek by tears. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PYGMALION TO GALATEA by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES PARADOX: THAT FRUITION DESTROYS LOVE by HENRY KING (1592-1669) PYGMALION by SARA JANE CLARKE LIPPINCOTT METAMOPHOSES: PYGMALION AND THE STATUE by PUBLIUS OVIDIUS NASO PYGMALION by WILLIAM BELL SCOTT HERMIONE: 1. THE LOST MAGIC by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL ON PYGMALION by RICHARD CRASHAW THE BALLAD OF JUDAS ISCARIOT by ROBERT WILLIAMS BUCHANAN THE LITTLE MILLINER by ROBERT WILLIAMS BUCHANAN A VOICE FROM ACADEME by ROBERT WILLIAMS BUCHANAN |
|