Pious the moss to see no more the ground; <br />For from this wasted wood forever gone <br />Is virgin who the milk and wine poured on <br />The earth to beauteous name that marked the bound. <br /> <br />The ivy, hop, viburnum, which around <br />This ruin gather, all to them unknown <br />Whether 'twas Silvan, Pan, Hermes or Faun, <br />Its maimed front their twining horns have found. <br /> <br />Behold! The ray, caressful as of old, <br />In its flat face has set two orbs of gold; <br />As though from lip, the vines bid laughter run; <br /> <br />And (mobile spell), wind murmuring blown, <br />The leaves, the wandering shadows and the sun, <br />Have turned to living God this broken stone.<br /><br />Jose Maria de Heredia<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-a-broken-marble/
