BEFORE A STATUE OF ACHILLES

Behold Pelides with his yellow hair,

Proud child of Thetis, hero loved of Jove;

Above the frowning of his brows it wove

A crown of gold, well combed, with Spartan care.

Who might have seen him, sullen, great, and fair,

As with the wrongful world he proudly strove,

And by high deeds his wilder passion shrove,

Mastering love, resentment, and despair.

He knew his end, and Phoebus’ arrow sure

He braved for fame immortal and a friend,

Despising life; and we, who know our end,

Know that in our decay he shall endure

And all our children's hearts to grief inure,

With whose first bitter battles his shall blend.

Who brought thee forth, immortal vision, who

In Phthia or in Tempe brought thee forth?

Out of the sunlight and the sapful earth

What god the simples of thy spirit drew?

A goddess rose from the green waves, and threw

Her arms about a king, to give thee birth;

A centaur, patron of thy boyish mirth,

Over the meadows in thy footsteps flew.

Now Thessaly forgets thee, and the deep

Thy keeled bark furrowed answers not thy prayer

But far away new generations keep

Thy laurels fresh, where branching Isis hems

The lawns of Oxford round about, or where

Enchanted Eton sits by pleasant Thames.

I gaze on thee as Phidias of old

Or Polyclitus gazed, when first he saw

These hard and shining limbs, without a flaw,

And cast his wonder in heroic mould.

Unhappy me who only may behold,

Nor make immutable and fix in awe

A fair immortal form no worm shall gnaw,

A tempered mind whose faith was never told!

The godlike mien, the lion's lock and eye,

The well-knit sinew, utter a brave heart

Better than many words that part by part

Spell in strange symbols what serene and whole

In nature lives, nor can in marble die.

The perfect body is itself the soul.