Page:Poems Terry, 1861.djvu/99

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A statue.
95
     Regally hath sadness
      Taught thee to endure;
Earth passes at thy feet, but heaven is ever sure.

     Like the languid tolling
      Of a funeral bell,
     Or the awful rolling
      Of the ocean's swell,
Thou stillest sound with awe, through power's sublimest spell.

     In what holy vision
      Of a midnight moon,
     Did thy shape Elysian
      Rise, like some sad tune,
Through the rapt sculptor's soul, and turn his night to noon?

     Utter thus forever,
      With resistless tongue,
     Higher thought than ever
      Bird or breeze hath sung;
For Beauty never dies, and Grace is ever young.