The Statue

That I might chisel a statue, line on line,
  Out of a marble’s chaste severities!
  Angular, harsh; no softened curves to please;
Set tears within the eyes to make them shine,
And furrows on the brow, deep, stern, yet fine;
  Gaunt, awkward, tall; no courtier of ease;
  The trousers bulging at the bony knees;
Long nose, large mouth . . . But ah, the light divine
Of Truth, – the light that set a people free!—
  Burning upon it in a steady flame,
  As sunset fires a white peak on the sky . . .
Ah, God! To leave it nameless and yet see
  Men looking weep and bow themselves and cry—
  ‘Enough, enough! We know thy statue’s name!’