Mae Marsh, Motion Picture Actress

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.