_THE graver by Apollo’s shrine_,
_Before the Gods had fled_, _would stand_,
_A shell or onyx in his hand_,
_To copy there the face divine_,
_Till earnest touches_, _line by line_,
_Had wrought the wonder of the land_
_Within a beryl’s golden band_,
_Or on some fiery opal fine_.
_Ah_! _would that as some ancient ring_
_To us_, _on shell or stone_, _doth bring_,
_Art’s marvels perished long ago_,
_So I_, _within the sonnet’s space_,
_The large Hellenic lines might trace_,
_The statue in the cameo_!