Sonnet I
ON SEEING THE BUST OF THE YOUNG PRINCESS DE MONTFORT
(In the studio of Bartolini, at Florence).
SWEET marble I didst thou merely represent,
In lieu of her on whom our glances rest,
Some common loveliness,—we were content,
As with a modell’d beauty, well express’d;
But, by the very skill which makes thee seem
So like HER bright and intellectual face,
The heart is led unsatisfied to dream;
For sculpture cannot give the breathing grace,
The light which plays beneath that shadowy brow,
Like sunshine on the fountains of the south,—
The blush which tints that cheek with roseate glow,—
The smile which hovers round that angel-mouth:
No! such the form o’er which Pygmalion sigh’d—
Too fair to be complete while SOUL was still denied!
