Once Phidias stood, with hammer in his hand, <br />Carving Minerva from the breathing stone, <br />Tracing with love the winding of a hair, <br />A single hair upon her head, whereon <br />A youth of Athens cried, “O Phidias, <br />Why do you dally on a hidden hair? <br />When she is lifted to the lofty front <br />Of the Parthenon, no human eye will see.” <br />And Phidias thundered on him: “Silence, slave: <br />Men will not see, but the Immortals will!”<br /><br />Edwin Markham<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-workman-to-the-gods/
