Page:Poems, Volume 2, Coates, 1916.djvu/135

Rh My treasures vast shall serve and cherish

An art too heavenly to perish:

A beauty, born of passion pure,

That shall endure!"

So spake he. . . . Now he lies asleep;

But near him forms angelic keep

Unwearied watch, and from decay

Guard him alway:

Rare sculptured forms that blend his story

With Donatello's deathless glory,

And make mankind his debtors be

Eternally.

For lordly castles, as he said,

Have crumbled; aye, and bastions dread,

And temples grave and gardens gay

Are now as they:

Each vaunted image of his power

Has perished like a wayside flower,

But living in the art he fed,

He is not dead!