neck and spoil his work;

she held her pose like that a whole day through.

He is working for art — and is there any shame in that?

But for hunger she would never have consented to endure as he endures,

and he is in his own world ... if only the world knew his secret:

one glance he casts upon her, and upon the marble a glance.

•

The sun leaned toward the west .. and still he toiled,

and the honed marble was transformed until it became a form:

a fingertip — from her hand — bent down to prop a cheek;

the breast came clear .. and upon the breast something that defies;

the belly rounded — in its fold — most beautifully.

He said, "But for hunger, it would never have gone so hard with the maiden."

Then he drew the right palm full length along the thighs —

he hides that whose enchantment had come back the stronger —

and lengthened the leg till at the ankle it verged upon its contrary,

and he sees it, a foot that delights to have its willful way.

•

Night fell dark ... and he paid the maiden no heed —

the artist's aim is to carry art to perfection.

He folded the hair upon the head like wave following wave,

and bared the forehead, lustrous as a glittering mirror,

and showed the glance of two eyes drawing out their question;

beside the ear he curved a crescent from the lock at the temple,

and set the nose, needle-fine, in beauty and proportion.

Then, when he came to the mouth, he saw in it one thing more.

He said, "If this mouth would only part in a smile, it would be lovelier still" —

and behold, a voice — the cock's voice — rose high with the morning.

•

The figure was finished ... it lacked nothing but speech.

He turned, laughing to the maiden in a kind of apology:

"Look at the work of my hand — it is worthy of regard:

it is a deathless miracle .. like the day itself!"

And he saw her: she moved not a lip .. the body bare.

He came close to her, a live coal of fire within his ribs —

and behold, the girl in her place — like a bracelet:

a body without a soul, keeping its endless wait,

only the mouth — just as he loved it — parted in a smile.

•

He bowed before her, weeping his wretched end,

and folded the garment's hem over her — in his affliction.

"I call to you .. and does the dead hear a mourner's voice?

I would give myself for you .. and what use to you my gray head in its pleading!?"

Then he cast a bewildered glance toward his statue

and saw it staring fixedly .. with no pity for his state.

So in despair he did a thing that had never crossed his mind:

he hurled a piece of hard stone that marred some of its beauty,

and went off stumbling over things, raving in his derangement.

•

The scholar stood up among the crowds to speak.

He said, "The expedition to the East tells us a wondrous thing:

while they were crossing the deserts .. southward,

they came there upon a statue — I shall unveil it presently.

God knows, though it be found flawed at the forearm,

it still, for all the flaw, makes hearts bleed:

it is the most beautiful statue of a fair woman ever brought to light."

And he drew away the veil, and all cried out: "Blessed be —

the hand of art has immortalized a beloved in the hard marble!"