Within your hands, my life is like soft clay
Moulded at will,--or better, like the snow
Of marble, that in Athens long ago
Was beaten to such glorious form, today
Bespeaking honor for those eastern climes.
Your life beats on the marble of my heart:
Oh, strike with care! let every blow have art
Of love and reverence. As in those old times
Beyond the seas, were wrought with wondrous skill
Loves, demons, angels, saints; so may your hand
Dear sculptor Love, make what you will; may fill
A heart's white temple, beautiful and grand
With base or holy figures. In each nave
May put a god, a demon, saint or slave.
