A BUST BY RODIN, KNOWN AS CERES

With rhythmic feet and garments flowing free Draw near, draw near, bring largesse in full hand; Move as to music of the saraband Stately, before this Woman-deity. Woman’s—these billows of thick hair that roll Down the billowing breasts of her, and close Shadows of pain and mirth in firm repose— This delicate mask drawn tight across a soul! A Goddess—Ultima Thule in her eye; For the sad wisdom of its steady gaze, Fixed on far, wintry fields and frozen ways, Goes out to larger things than you or I: The Titan-sap makes gods of the spring hours, And Earth renews its children and its flowers!