On a Cast from an Antique

Headless, without an arm, a figure leans
By something vaguely Greek, — a fount, an urn;
Dim stairs climb past her where one's thoughts discern
A temple or a palace. Some great queen's
Daughter art thou? or humbly one of those
Who serve a queen? Is this the sacred thing
That holds thy child, thy husband, or thy king?
Or lightly-laughing water? No one knows.

A woman once, now merely womanhood,
In gentle pose of un-selfconscious dream
That consecrates all ministry of love.
Gone are thy temples and the gods thereof,
But through the ruin of centuries sublime
Heart speaks to heart, and still is understood.