The Statue

That I might chisel a statue, line on line, Out of a marble’s chaste severities! Angular, harsh; no softened curves to please; Set tears within the eyes to make them shine, And furrows on the brow, deep, stern, yet fine; Gaunt, awkward, tall; no courtier of ease; The trousers bulging at the bony knees; Long nose, large mouth . . . But ah, the light divine Of Truth, – the light that set a people free!— Burning upon it in a steady flame, As sunset fires a white peak on the sky . . . Ah, God! To leave it nameless and yet see Men looking weep and bow themselves and cry— ‘Enough, enough! We know thy statue’s name!’