Hiram Power’s Greek Slave.

They say Ideal Beauty cannot enter1
The house of anguish. On the threshold stands2
This alien Image with the shackled hands,3
Called the Greek Slave : as if the artist meant her4
(The passionless perfection which he lent her,5
Shadowed, not darkened, where the sill expands)6
To, so, confront man’s crimes in different lands,7
With man’s ideal sense. Pierce to the centre,8
Art’s fiery finger ! and break up erelong9
The serfdom of this world. Appeal, fair stone,10
From God’s pure heights of beauty, against man’s
wrong !
Catch up, in thy divine face, not alone12
East griefs, but west, and strike and shame the
By thunders of white silence, overthrown.14