The sculptor carves the stone, till he beholds Its lessening bulk his finer thought fulfil; The flesh and blood our heavenly Artist moulds, Waxed fuller, while He wrought it fairer still, As Lucy grew to woman. Not a girl In the village wore her gracious look: But each her dear pre-eminence could brook, Nor wished a duller gloss on the least curl Of her bright auburn hair. Love came to woo In humblest guise, yet no coquettish guile Depraved the honest beauty of her smile; Her goodness raised and bettered those who drew The lot of the rejected, for they knew Her utter truth and sweetness all the while! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EIGHT O'CLOCK by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN SPRING COURAGE by MADELINE BENEDICT THE VOICE OF AUTUMN by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: TERRA INCOGNITA by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON EPITAPH ON A CLEISH SCHOOLMASTER by ROBERT BURNS |