Antonio Canova

Sensuous delicacy of the body,
Whose curves and countercurves
The eye’s caress can only hazard!
Absolute majesty of line
Conducts imagination to unforeseen ends...
The priestly hand takes up its tools,
Marmoreal offerings to fashion
From human perplexity.
Canny diplomat of worlds, Canova
Serves at the borders, detached
From affection, alone with the dead
And abandoned his resourceful kin.
From court to court, serving patrons
All at war with one another, the artist
Manoeuvres with modesty and grace,
His fortunes greater than their destinies.

Silent, he stands before his finished work:
The tomb of Maria Christina, in Vienna,
The dark door in the pyramid
Drawing in the endless cortège ,
Bone-white into black,
Procession we cannot but join;
Here, there is no consolation, no absolution,
Only infinite mystery to contemplate.

Through art to the existence beyond!
Unappeasable longing will have its way
With you, reveal and conceal,
Force you to the crux.
Thus Cupid gazes into Psyche’s eyes,
Embracing in unbearable suspense,
All energies converging on the focus
Between their almost-meeting lips.