The Woman with the Urn*

The woman with the Urn *

If Thou Art eternal
And Beauty Thine if
The Truth, as once
A poet thy bless found
Upon written and carved
So wonderous on an Urn,

Tell me, art thou only
Grecian,
Now that me before Thou
Ponder and Pray,
Thou if, so holding the Urn
As it should be held,
Up right there, balanced and poised,

Art thou Grecian,
Only then ,
So beauteous, eternal,

But how that can be,
Thy Beauty
Is so never so placed,
You canst never be so
Put into one frame, one space,
One time,
Thou canst never belong,

Now that me
Getting mesmerised by thy Bless,
O You, the Carrier of Water,
Feeding all, quencher of all thirst,
Like Diva, like Venus almost,
Grown out of human forms,

Thou art if so bright,
Like on canvas blessed by passion
And that Halo of Thy Creator,
So Borne out of heavenly light,

Tell me,
Art thou Grecian,

But how that can be,
For in you,
How i see me,
My passion of Poesy,
My search never ending
For that carved Eternality,
So Venus like,
As Thou growst out of the Heavenly Bower,
Like a music so beauteous,

How can me just You pass
Calling you only Grecian,

O You, the Diva of a Dawn,
The rise of the Eternal,
The Beauty of Truth
And Truth of BEAUTY,

How can i just You pass by
Whence, (even in miniscule form,)
Me thinks me receives thy Piety. (*Note : upon a painting loosely based, as attached.

#GrecianUrn : a popular poem by John Keats, wherein the poet had described the Eternality of Art as a contrast to all things transient.)

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