And as he waved the feeble hand,
And crawl'd unto the porch,
He saw the Silent Genius stand
With the extinguish'd torch!
The world without, for ever yours,
Ye stern remorseless Three;
What, from that changeful world, secures
Calm Immortality?
Nay, soon or late decays, alas!
Or canvass, stone, or scroll;
From all material forms must pass
To forms afresh, the soul.
'Tis but in that which doth create,
Duration can be sought;
A worm can waste the canvass;—Fate
Ne'er swept from Time, a Thought.
Lives Phidias in his works alone?—
His Jove returns to air:
But wake one godlike shape from stone,
And Phidian thought is there!
Blot out the Iliad from the earth,
Still Homer's thought would fire
Each deed that boasts sublimer worth,
And each diviner lyre.
Like light, connecting star to star,
Doth Thought transmitted run;—
Rays that to earth the nearest are,
Have longest left the sun.