Rome

I sat in the Muses’ Hall at the mid of the day,And it seemed to grow still, and the people to pass away,And the chiselled shapes to combine in a haze of sun,Till beside a Carrara column there gleamed forth One.

She was nor this nor that of those beings divine,5But each and the whole⁠—an essence of all the Nine;With tentative foot she neared to my halting-place,A pensive smile on her sweet, small, marvellous face.

“Regarded so long, we render thee sad?” said she.“Not you,” sighed I, “but my own inconstancy!10I worship each and each; in the morning one,And then, alas! another at sink of sun.

“To-day my soul clasps Form; but where is my trothOf yesternight with Tune: can one cleave to both?”—“Be not perturbed,” said she. “Though apart in fame,15As I and my sisters are one, those, too, are the same.

—“But my loves go further⁠—to Story, and Dance, and Hymn,The lover of all in a sun-sweep is fool to whim⁠—Is swayed like a river-weed as the ripples run!”—“Nay, wight, thou sway’st not. These are but phases of one;20

“And that one is I; and I am projected from thee,One that out of thy brain and heart thou causest to be⁠—Extern to thee nothing. Grieve not, nor thyself becall,Woo where thou wilt; and rejoice thou canst love at all!”