Which lighted in their darkling depths like meteor lighted skies,
And one who stood beside him listened, smiling as he heard,
‘For I will make an angel of it,’ was the sculptor’s word.
Then chisel sharp, and mallet strong, that stubborn block assailed,
And blow by blow, and pang by pang, the prisoner unveiled;
A brow was lifted, pure and high, a waking eye outshone
And as the master swiftly wrought, a smile broke through the stone.
Beneath that chisel’s edge, the hair escaped in[in] flowing rings,
And plume by plume were slowly freed, the sweep of half furled wings,
The stately bust, the shapely limbs their stony fetters shed,