THE PARTHENON BY MOONLIGHT

by: Richard Watson Gilder (1844-1909)

I

 

HIS is an island of the golden Past

Uplifted in the tranquil sea of night.

This is true Athens! How the heart beats fast

When climbs the pilgrim to this gleaming height:

The crown and glory of consummate form;

The jewel of all the world, most nobly set;

High Beauty’s shrine, outwearing every storm;

Shattered, but not undone; thrice lovely yet.

 

II

 

Ah, Heaven, what tragic waste! Is Time so lavish

Of dear perfection, thus to see it spilled?

'T was worth an empire; now behold the ravish

That laid it low. The soaring plain is filled

With the wide-scattered letters of one word

Of loveliness that nevermore was spoken;

Nor ever shall its like again be heard:

Not dead is art -- but that high charm is broken.

 

III

 

Now moonlight builds with swift and mystic art

And makes the ruin whole -- and yet not whole,

But exquisite, though crushed and torn apart.

Back to the temple steals its living soul:

In the star-silent night it comes all pale--

A spirit breathing beauty and delight,

And yet how stricken! Hark! I hear it wail,

Self-sorrowful, while every wound bleeds white.

 

IV

 

And though more sad than is the nightingale

That mourns in Lycabettus’ fragrant pine,

That soul to mine brings solace; nor shall fail

To heal the heart of man while still doth shine

Yon planet, doubly bright in this deep blue;

Yon moon that brims with fire these violet hills:

For Beauty is of God, and God is true,

And with his strength the soul of mortal fills.

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