Oh no, not this! This is a Roman face,
Superb, composed, with such a matron grace
As that of great Cornelia, never thee.
Young princess of an ancient poetry!
Nor do I wish thy beauty from its grave;
Rather, one bird across the purple wave,
Or the mere sight of that Aegean sea.
Shall tell thy mortal loveliness to me!
Or I will find some slender, broken plinth.
And mark it thine with wild blue hyacinth,
While some far fruit, upon triumphant bough.
Shall say how unattainable wert thou!