THEY say Ideal beauty cannot enter The house of anguish. On the threshold stands An alien Image with enshackled hands, Called the Greek Slave! as if the artist meant her (That passionless perfection which he lent her, Shadowed not darkened where the sill expands) To so confront man's crimes in different lands With man's ideal sense. Pierce to the centre, Art's fiery finger, and break up ere long The serfdom of this world. Appeal, fair stone, From God's pure heights of beauty against man's wrong! Catch up in thy divine face, not alone East griefs but west, and strike and shame the strong, By thunders of white silence, overthrown. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OEDIPUS AT COLONUS: OLD AGE by SOPHOCLES AGAMEMNON: WELCOME TO AGAMEMNON by AESCHYLUS BY WAY OF EXPLANATION by VIRGINIA A. ALLIN TWO QUESTIONS by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE PRAESTO by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |