XVII.

_THE ARTIST AND HIS WORK._

_Com' esser, donna, può._

How can that be, lady, which all men learn By long experience? Shapes that seem alive, Wrought in hard mountain marble, will survive Their maker, whom the years to dust return! Thus to effect cause yields. Art hath her turn, And triumphs over Nature. I, who strive With Sculpture, know this well; her wonders live In spite of time and death, those tyrants stern. So I can give long life to both of us In either way, by colour or by stone, Making the semblance of thy face and mine. Centuries hence when both are buried, thus Thy beauty and my sadness shall be shown, And men shall say, 'For her 'twas wise to pine.'