Sonnet I

ON SEEING THE BUST OF THE YOUNG PRINCESS DE MONTFORT (In the studio of Bartolini, at Florence). SWEET marble I didst thou merely represent, In lieu of her on whom our glances rest, Some common loveliness,--we were content, As with a modell'd beauty, well express'd; But, by the very skill which makes thee seem So like HER bright and intellectual face, The heart is led unsatisfied to dream; For sculpture cannot give the breathing grace, The light which plays beneath that shadowy brow, Like sunshine on the fountains of the south,-- The blush which tints that cheek with roseate glow,-- The smile which hovers round that angel-mouth: No! such the form o'er which Pygmalion sigh'd-- Too fair to be complete while SOUL was still denied!