He spoke and said, "My lot contented: me;
I am right glad for this her worthy fame;
That which was good and great I fain would see
Drawn with a halo round what rests--its name."
This while the Poet said, behold there came
A workman with his tools anear the tree,
And when he read the words he paused awhile
And pondered on them with a wondering smile.

And then he said, "I pray you, Sir, what mean
The golden letters of this monument?"
In wonder quoth the Poet, "Hast thou been
A dweller near at hand, and their intent
Hast neither heard by voice of fame, nor seen
The marble earlier?" "Ay," said he, and leant
Upon his spade to hear the tale, then sigh,
And say it was a marvel, and pass by.

Then said the Poet, "This is strange to me."
But as he mused, with trouble in his mind,
A band of maids approached him leisurely,
Like vessels sailing with a favoring wind;
And of their rosy lips requested he,
As one that for a doubt would solving find,
The tale, if tale there were, of that white stone,
And those fair letters--"While she lived she shone."

Then like a fleet that floats becalmed they stay.
"O, Sir," saith one, "this monument is old;