The Dancing Girl

Whence I did take my chisel to stone Carved I a damsel in rock She bore the finest curves As men bespoke of in droves Each part was etched to my delight Till the earliest hours of light Her eyes they seemed to speak Of being demure and meek An ornament adorned her neck And sank into her bosom Her cheeks didn't tell The pain that befell Her waist twisted as if in dance Her head bowed forward Arms akimbo Legs bent in a bow The tale within her Lips so sealed As if in protest To an unknown test Said the carver to himself I shall carve in your likeness Of all the grief you have borne When you are gone.