1] As one who poring on a Grecian urn
2] Scans the fair shapes some Attic hand hath made,
3] God with slim goddess, goodly man with maid,
4] And for their beauty's sake is loth to turn
5] And face the obvious day, must I not yearn
6] For many a secret moon of indolent bliss,
7] When in the midmost shrine of Artemis
8] I see thee standing, antique-limbed, and stern?
9] And yet—methinks I'd rather see thee play
10] That serpent of old Nile, whose witchery
11] Made Emperors drunken,—come, great Egypt, shake
12] Our stage with all thy mimic pageants! Nay,
13] I am grown sick of unreal passions, make
14] The world thine Actium, me thine Antony!