|
|||||||||||||
The Parthenon By Herman Melville |
|||||||||||||
I Seen aloft from afar Estranged in site, Aerial gleaming, warmly white, You look a suncloud motionless In noon of day divine; Your beauty charmed enhancement takes In Art's long after-shine. II Nearer viewed Like Lais, fairest of her kind, In subtlety your form's defined- The cornice curved, each shaft inclined, While yet, to eyes that do but revel And take the sweeping view, Erect this seems, and that a level, To line and plummet true- Spinoza gazes; and in mind Dreams that one architect designed Lais-and you! III The Frieze What happy musings genial went With airiest touch the chisel lent To frisk and curvet light Of horses gay-their riders grave- Contrasting so in action brave With virgins meekly bright- Clear filing on in even tone With pitcher each, one after one Like water-fowl in flight. IV The Last Tile When the last marble tile was laid The winds died down on all the seas; Hushed were the birds, and swooned the glade; Ictinus sat; Aspasia said 'Hist !-Art's meridian, Pericles!' | |||||||||||||
|