Tell me, Tanagra, who made
Out of clay so sweet a thing?
Are you the immortal shade
Of a man's imagining?
In your incarnation meet
All things fair and all things fleet.
Arrow from Diana's bow,
Atalanta's feet of fire,
Some one made you long ago,
Made you out of his desire.
Waken from the sleep of clay
And rise and dance the world away.