To Alexander Galt, The Sculptor Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABBBCD EFGGFHD III IJJKIILLMI IIINOCOCIIII PCPCQQ RIRIII CSKKCKQ IINTNJ UTTI QVKKBBBW XYYXZA2 IQQQA2A2IB2C2A2IA2ID 2 A2E2E2F2F2A2A2A2A2A2 A2E2G2D2B2H2D2Alas he's cold | A |
Cold as the marble which his fingers wrought | B |
Cold but not dead for each embodied thought | B |
Of his which he from the Ideal brought | B |
To live in stone | C |
Assures him immortality of fame | D |
- | |
Galt is not dead | E |
Only too soon | F |
We saw him climb | G |
Up to his pedestal where equal Time | G |
And coming generations in the noon | F |
Of his full reputation yet shall stand | H |
To pay just homage to his noble name | D |
- | |
Our Poet of the Quarries only sleeps | I |
He cleft his pathway up the future's steeps | I |
And now rests from his labors | I |
- | |
Hence 'tis I say | I |
For him there is no death | J |
Only the stopping of the pulse and breath | J |
But simple breath is not the all in all | K |
Man hath it but in common with the brutes | I |
Life is in action and in brave pursuits | I |
By what we dream and having dreamt dare do | L |
We hold our places in the world's large view | L |
And still have part in the affairs of men | M |
When the long sleep is on us | I |
- | |
He dreamt and made his dreams perpetual things | I |
Fit for the rugged cell of penitential saints | I |
Or sumptuous halls of Kings | I |
And showed himself a Poet in the Art | N |
He chiselled Lyrics with a touch so fine | O |
With such a tender beauty of their own | C |
That rarest songs broke out from every line | O |
And verse was audible in voiceless stone | C |
His Psyche soft in beauty and in grace | I |
Waits for her lover in the Western breeze | I |
And a swift smile irradiates her face | I |
As though she heard him whisper in the trees | I |
- | |
His passion stricken Sappho seems alive | P |
Before her none can ever feel alone | C |
For on her face emotions so do strive | P |
That we forget she is but pallid stone | C |
And all her tragedy of love and woe | Q |
Is told us in the chilly marble's snow | Q |
- | |
Bacchante with her vine crowned hair | R |
Leaps to the cymbal measured dance | I |
With such a passion in her air | R |
Upon her brow upon her lips | I |
As thrills you to the finger tips | I |
And fascinates your glance | I |
- | |
These are as 'twere three of his Songs in stone | C |
The first full of the tenderness of love | S |
Speaking of moon rise and the low wind's call | K |
The second of love's tragedy and fall | K |
The third of shrill mad laughter and the tone | C |
Of festal music on whose rise and fall | K |
Swift footed dancers follow | Q |
- | |
Nobler than these sweet lyric dreams | I |
Dreamt out beside Italia's streams | I |
He'd worked some Epic studies out in part | N |
To leave them incomplete his chiefest pain | T |
When the low pulses of his failing heart | N |
Admonished him of death | J |
- | |
Ay he had soared upon a lofty wing | U |
Wet with the purple and encrimsoned rain | T |
Of dreams whose clouds had floated o'er his brain | T |
Until it ached with glories | I |
- | |
If you would see his Epic studies go | Q |
Go with the student from his dim arcade | V |
Halt where the Statesman standeth in the hall | K |
And mark how careless voices hush and fall | K |
And all light talk to sudden pause is brought | B |
In presence of the noble type of thought | B |
Embodied Independence which he wrought | B |
From stone of far Carrara | W |
- | |
View his Columbus Hero grand and meek | X |
Scarred 'mid the battle's long protracted brunt | Y |
Palos and Salvador stamped on his front | Y |
With not a line about it poor or weak | X |
A second Atlas bearing on his brow | Z |
A New World just discovered | A2 |
- | |
Go see Virginia's wise majestic face | I |
With some faint shadow of her coming woe | Q |
Writ on the broad expansive virgin snow | Q |
Of her imperial forehead just as though | Q |
Some disembodied Prophet hand of eld | A2 |
The Sculptor's chisel in its touch had held | A2 |
Foreshadowing her coming crown of thorns | I |
Her crown and her great glory | B2 |
These of the many but they are enough | C2 |
Enough to show that I have rightly said | A2 |
The marble's snow bids back from him decay | I |
He sleepeth long but sleeps not with the dead | A2 |
Who die and are forgotten ere the clay | I |
Heaped over them hath hardened in the sun | D2 |
- | |
This much of Galt the Artist | A2 |
Of the man | E2 |
Fain would I speak but in sad sooth I can | E2 |
Ne'er find the words wherein to tell | F2 |
How he was loved or yet how well | F2 |
He did deserve it | A2 |
All things of beauty were to him delight | A2 |
The sunset's clouds the turret rent apart | A2 |
The stars which glitter in the noon of night | A2 |
Spoke in one voice unto his mind and heart | A2 |
His love of Nature made his love of Art | A2 |
And had his span | E2 |
Of life been longer | G2 |
He had surely done | D2 |
Such noble things that he | B2 |
Like to a soaring eagle would have been | H2 |
At last lost in the sun | D2 |
James Barron Hope
(1)
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