High Falcon & Other Poems/Caryatid

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CARYATID
Not at midnight, not at morning, O sweet city,Shall we come in at your portal, but this girl, your servant,Bearing on her head a broken stone,In the body shaped to this, the throat and bosomPoised no less for the burden now the temple is fallen,Tells the white Athenian wonder overthrown.
There is no clasp which stays beauty forever.Time has undone her, from porphyry, from bronze.She is winged every way and will not rest;But the gesture of the lover shall remain long after,Where lovely and imponderable there leansA weight more grave than marble on the breast.
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