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Winged Victory of Samothrace, and Paris
Ascend the rock from sea, Grecian sailor,
Meet the goddess on her pedestal-prow.
Her hand cups to deliver ancient lore,
A tale of victory from long ago.
Descend, elements, on marble for years,
Make her cupped palm crumble, lost in sea spray.
Blind, the goddess is swept to a new pier:
Old empire dead, new ships steal her away.
Ascend the staircase, tourists’ of France,
Marvel at her garment’s fierce, dragging flare.
Beauty in stone and frozen in firm stance,
Imagine her eyes, how far they could stare.
None will have seen her form in its glory,
Or hear her bell voice cry,