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Mae Marsh Motion Picture Actress

by
 I

The arts are old, old as the stones
From which man carved the sphinx austere.
Deep are the days the old arts bring: Ten thousand years of yesteryear.
II She is madonna in an art As wild and young as her sweet eyes: A frail dew flower from this hot lamp That is today's divine surprise.
Despite raw lights and gloating mobs She is not seared: a picture still: Rare silk the fine director's hand May weave for magic if he will.
When ancient films have crumbled like Papyrus rolls of Egypt's day, Let the dust speak: "Her pride was high, All but the artist hid away: "Kin to the myriad artist clan Since time began, whose work is dear.
" The deep new ages come with her, Tomorrow's years of yesteryear.

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