The mind or heart may be like rock: "So numerous herds are driven o'er the rock, / No print is left of all the passing flock; / So sings the wind around the solid stone, / So vainly beat the waves with fruitless moan"
— Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley [née Lady Mary Pierrepont] (1689-1762)
No print is left of all the passing flock;
So sings the wind around the solid stone,
So vainly beat the waves with fruitless moan.
Tedious the toil, and great the workman's care,
Who dare attempt to fix impressions there.
But should some swain more skillful than the rest,
Engrave his name on this cold marble breast,
Not rolling ages could deface that name--
Through all the storms of life 'tis still the same:
Though length of years with moss may shade the ground
Deep, though unseen, remains the secret wound.
(ll. 72-83, p. 65)