Rodin in Rime

LA PENSEE XQUISITE fairy, flower from stone begotten Sprung into sudden shape of maidenhood, Hast thou thy father’s anguish all forgotten? Hast thou a balm, who hast hardly understood? Is not thy beauty for his comfort moulded, Thy joy and purity his won reward ? Sweet blush of blood, pale blossom lightly folded, To thee did he carve his way by right of sword ? Thou who art all delight to all of us, Hast thou no special intimate caress For him whose bloody sweat stood murderous On the writhen brow, the bosom of distress ? Ay! for his anguish thou art gain enough— One thought, worth all Earth’s fame, and gold, and love! 47