A STATUE stood before me
Made in a wondrous mould;
Though the limbs were round and glistening,
The marble was icy and cold.
Though the bosom was swelling and perfect,
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There beat not a heart within;
Though the eyes were open and laughing,
They had never learned to sin.
Though the lips were full and enchanting,
They had never granted a kiss;
Though the mouth was parted and waiting,
It had never sighed for bliss.
Then I seized the wine-cup beside me,
And emptied the lees on her heart,
And watched the ruddy streamlet
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