I The arts are old, old as the stones From which man carved the sphinx austere. Deep are the days the old arts bring: Ten thousand years of yesteryear. II She is madonna in an art As wild and young as her sweet eyes: A frail dew flower from this hot lamp That is today`s divine surprise. Despite raw lights and gloating mobs She is not seared: a picture still: Rare silk the fine director`s hand May weave for magic if he will. When ancient films have crumbled like Papyrus rolls of Egypt`s day, Let the dust speak: "Her pride was high, All but the artist hid away: "Kin to the myriad artist clan Since time began, whose work is dear." The deep new ages come with her, Tomorrow`s years of yesteryear.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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