WHO KNOWS WHAT I COULD HAVE DONE ?
Our doubts are traitors / And make us lose the good we oft might win / By fearing to attempt.-- Lucio, Act I, Scene 4, Measure for Measure, Shakespeare
If only my old patron were wiser,
A little richer, more discerning, my--
His statue lays with marble trash, the miser.
My work, my lovely work of art will die.
To be reduced to lime for mortar, that
Is her ignoble fate. Her arms are gone,
Here smooth surface marred. She is lying flat
Upon the ground, and I was just a pawn
With no authority to save my best
Artistic chance, the subtle twist from brow
To legs, the novel draping cloth, the rest
Of my ideas, all will be lost now.
Is fame and fortune what I really want?
Oh God, where is my Admiral Dumont?
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