But when day dawn’d and he awoke,
⁠That rainbow-dream had pass’d for ever—
The nymph had turn’d to stone again,
⁠To wake to life and beauty—never.
With a deep sigh he kiss’d the lips
⁠Of that sweet nymph, once more reposing;
Then seized his shaping-steel and clay
⁠To toil till life’s long day was closing.

He wept not, but, in patience strong,
⁠Thought of the blissful re-uniting,
As soldiers do of rest and sleep
⁠After a long day’s toilsome fighting;
And in his art content he toil’d
⁠To deck that fane of Aphroditè,
And by him, as he laboured, stood
⁠His statue of the gentle Clytè.