famous poem

were it not for that singular smell
beneath the warrior's helm
i was a goddess ere the marble found me
up from the meadows rich with corn
out of the window a sea of green trees
in an old chamber softly lit
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
often i think of the beautiful town
i expect you
grieve not for the invisible
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought
tell me less or tell me more
why do you always stand there shivering