In hopeless age set helplessly adrift,
Her bread the bitter thought of days bygone!
No word immortal on the statue writ,
Save the deep bitterness of graven name;
No trumpet telling dumbly of her fame,
Nor unquenched lamp by vestal virgin lit—
Youth, empire, and her people’s love all o’er,
Unqueened, and still undying, evermore!
V.
O artist! lurks there in your sculptured thought