Grandmother Madge Gets Mythological.

(Even more so on paper than in our real lives. Family members who die young get sainted, thus it was with her.)

GALATEA TO PYGMALION

'Tis better that again I am the stone--

That once again these arms of mine are clay.

Far better to have lost all human power

Than that Love's spell on you be broke someday

And you no longer feel that strong desire

To hold this body close--so close to thine

Making the two one for a little space.

Oh, better stone than that you may forget

The eagerness with which you turned to mine!

That kisses, warm and passionately sweet,

Would be the same to you from other lips!

Much better that you hold my memory dear

Than that the fiery ardor change to hate,

Or even worse, to calm indifference,

And you forget your vows--the vows you made

To her whom once you loved and gave a life.

Oh, Pygmalion, you grieve so now, and yet,

'Tis better thus. You have the stone which once

burned in your arms, forever, now, unchanged,

as it one day would surely change alive.

You've had the dream you dreamed; let that suffice.

Dreams are of stuff which fades in day's harsh light

And Galatea, sculpted back to stone,

Retains her dream, her beauty, and her throne.

Madge Hall

March 2, 1940

PYGMALION TO GALATEA

Ah, Galatea, stone thou art again.

So quickly didst thou change from warm soft flesh

To that cold hardness of the marble. Vain,

Vain are my prayers to grant thee life again.

One wish come true per life's enough, it seems,

To gods who hearken to men's wishful dreams.

The gods, I thought, were kind to give me you,

But better hadst thou stayed forever cold

Than that thy memory haunt me ever. You

Will not lose beauty, fade, nor yet grow old

As I must do. Alone I wait for death

To blot you from my mind at my last breath.

Madge Hall

March 4, 1940