O’er all that place a heap of wreckage lay,
    Triglyphs and pediments and carven portals,
  With centaur, sphinx, chimera, satyrs gay—­
    Figures of fabled monsters and of mortals.

  A marble-wrought sarcophagus reposed
    Unharmed ’mid fragments of these fabled creatures;
  Its lidless depth a dead man’s form inclosed,
    The pain-wrung face now calm with softened features.

  A group of straining caryatides
    With steadfast neck the casket’s weight supported,
  Along both sides whereof there ran a frieze
    Of chiseled figures, wondrous ill-assorted.

  First one might see where, decked in bright array,
    A train of lewd Olympians proudly glided,
  Then Adam and Dame Eve, not far away,
    With fig-leaf aprons modestly provided.

  Next came the people of the Trojan war—­
    Paris, Achilles, Helen, aged Nestor;
  Moses and Aaron, too, with many more—­
    As Judith, Holofernes, Haman, Esther.

  Such forms as Cupid’s one could likewise see,
    Phoebus Apollo, Vulcan, Lady Venus,
  Pluto and Proserpine and Mercury,
    God Bacchus and Priapus and Silenus.

  Among the rest of these stood Balaam’s ass—­
    A speaking likeness (if you will, a braying)—­
  And Abraham’s sacrifice, and there, alas! 
    Lot’s daughters, too, their drunken sire betraying.

  Near by them danced the wanton Salome,
    To whom John’s head was carried in a charger;
  Then followed Satan, writhing horribly,
    And Peter with his keys—­none e’er seemed larger

  Changing once more, the sculptor’s cunning skill
    Showed lustful Jove misusing his high power,
  When as a swan he won fair Leda’s will,
    And conquered Danae in a golden shower.

  Here was Diana, leading to the chase
    Her kilted nymphs, her hounds with eyeballs burning;
  And here was Hercules in woman’s dress,
    His warlike hand the peaceful distaff turning.

  Not far from them frowned Sinai, bleak and wild,
    Along whose slope lay Israel’s nomad nation;
  Next, one might see our Savior as a child
    Amid the elders holding disputation.

  Thus were these opposites absurdly blent—­
    The Grecian joy of living with the godly
  Judean cast of thought!—­while round them bent
    The ivy’s tendrils, intertwining oddly.

  But—­wonderful to say!—­while dreamily
    I gazed thereon with glance returning often,
  Sudden methought that I myself was he,
    The dead man in the splendid marble coffin.

  Above the coffin by my head there grew
    A flower for a symbol sweet and tragic,
  Violet and sulphur-yellow was its hue,
    It seemed to throb with love’s mysterious magic.

  Tradition says, when Christ was crucified
    On Calvary, that in that very hour
  These petals with the Savior’s blood were dyed,
    And therefore is it named the passion-flower.