Shapes of Clay

by Ambrose Bierce

TEMPORA MUTANTUR

TEMPORA MUTANTUR.

"The world is dull," I cried in my despair:
"Its myths and fables are no longer fair.

"Roll back thy centuries, O Father Time.
To Greece transport me in her golden prime.

"Give back the beautiful old Gods again--
The sportive Nymphs, the Dryad's jocund train,

"Pan piping on his reeds, the Naiades,
The Sirens singing by the sleepy seas.

"Nay, show me but a Gorgon and I'll dare
To lift mine eyes to her peculiar hair

"(The fatal horrors of her snaky pate,
That stiffen men into a stony state)

"And die--erecting, as my soul goes hence,
A statue of myself, without expense."

Straight as I spoke I heard the voice of Fate:
"Look up, my lad, the Gorgon sisters wait."

Raising my eyes, I saw Medusa stand,
Stheno, Euryale, on either hand.

I gazed unpetrified and unappalled--
The girls had aged and were entirely bald!