“Now in the while by wondrous art an image he did grave
Of such proportion, shape and grace as nature never gave
Nor can to any woman give. In this work he took
A certain love. The look of it was right a maidens’s look,
And such a one that ye would believe had life and that
Would movèd be, if womanhood and reverence letted not.
So artificial was the work. He wond’reth at his art
And of his counterfeited corse conceiveth love in heart.”
From Ovid’s Metamorphoses, The tenth book, The Story of Pygmalion
Translated by Arthur Golden