HEW hard the marble from the mountain’s heart <br />Where hardest night holds fast in iron gloom <br />Gems brighter than an April dawn in bloom, <br />That his Memnoniah likeness thence may start <br />Revealed, whose hand with high funereal art <br />Carved night, and chiselled shadow: be the tomb <br />That speaks him famous graven with signs of doom <br />Intrenched inevitably in lines athwart, <br />As on some thunder-blasted Titan’s brow <br />His record of rebellion. Not the day <br />Shall strike forth music from so stern a chord, <br />Touching this marble: darkness, none knows how, <br />And stars impenetrable of midnight, may. <br />So locms the likeness of thy soul, John Ford.<br /><br />Algernon Charles Swinburne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/john-ford-vi/
