Rome: The Vatican-Sala Delle Muse

 I sat in the Muses' Hall at the mid of the day, 
And it seemed to grow still, and the people to pass away, 
And the chiselled shapes to combine in a haze of sun, 
Till beside a Carrara column there gleamed forth One. 

She was nor this nor that of those beings divine, 
But each and the whole--an essence of all the Nine; 
With tentative foot she neared to my halting-place, 
A pensive smile on her sweet, small, marvellous face. 

"Regarded so long, we render thee sad?" said she. 
"Not you," sighed I, "but my own inconstancy! 
I worship each and each; in the morning one, 
And then, alas! another at sink of sun. 

"To-day my soul clasps Form; but where is my troth 
Of yesternight with Tune: can one cleave to both?" 
- "Be not perturbed," said she. "Though apart in fame, 
As I and my sisters are one, those, too, are the same. 

- "But my loves go further--to Story, and Dance, and Hymn, 
The lover of all in a sun-sweep is fool to whim - 
Is swayed like a river-weed as the ripples run!" 
- "Nay, wight, thou sway'st not. These are but phases of one; 

"And that one is I; and I am projected from thee, 
One that out of thy brain and heart thou causest to be - 
Extern to thee nothing. Grieve not, nor thyself becall, 
Woo where thou wilt; and rejoice thou canst love at all!

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