Still undisturbed, O lovely lamp, you grace,
In dainty chains suspended, light and fine,
The ceiling of this almost-forgotten room.
Upon your white-marbled bowl, whose rim is wound
By ivy wrought in golden-greenish bronze,
A ring of children dance, their hands entwined.
How charming all of it!—and yet a gentle
Spirit of earnestness pours through the form—
A work of art of truest kind. Who heeds it?
What’s truly fair seems blessed by its own light.
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