She belongs to a classical tradition,
A bold embodiment of principle,
As if beauty were virtue’s sole credential
To render judgment by the implication
On poor humanity. Throughout the nation
Who can aspire to her goddess vigil?
Or feel though pardoned he is capable
Of pure righteousness, but in condemnation
Rather find quarter, be responsible.
If she stands still in that eternal pose,
So must our frailty always be reckoned;
The scales held high, the pans in counterpoise,
The double-edged sword, to which eye is beckoned.
It is in death we pass to judgment day,
Beyond that, Justitia has no sway.