An Apology

("Ionica," 1858, p. 115)

Uprose the temple of my love Sculptured with many a mystic theme, All frail and fanciful above, But pillared on a deep esteem.

It might have been a simpler plan, And traced on more majestic lines; But he that built it was a man Of will unstrung, and vague designs;

Not worthy, though indeed he wrought With reverence and a meek content, To keep that presence: yet the thought Is there, in frieze and pediment.

The trophied arms and treasured gold Have passed beneath the spoiler's hand; The shrine is bare, the altar cold, But let the outer fabric stand.