PYGMALION.

A STATUE stood before me

Made in a wondrous mould;

Though the limbs were round and glistening,

The marble was icy and cold.

Though the bosom was swelling and perfect,

There beat not a heart within;

Though the eyes were open and laughing,

They had never learned to sin.

Though the lips were full and enchanting,

They had never granted a kiss;

Though the mouth was parted and waiting,

It had never sighed for bliss.

Then I seized the wine-cup beside me,

And emptied the lees on her heart,

And watched the ruddy streamlet

Flow o'er each godlike part.

The marble grew softer and softer,

The eyes were dimmed with haze,

While through the entangled lashes

There came such a longing gaze.

The arms bent like circling willows,

That call for rest in the shade;

The cheeks flushed and paled in an instant,

As the glows of the sunset fade.

Her lips were parted to kiss me,

Her breath was heavy with love,

When she passed from my hungry vision

Into the clouds above.