Once Phidias stood, with hammer in his hand, br Carving Minerva from the breathing stone, br Tracing with love the winding of a hair, br A single hair upon her head, whereon br A youth of Athens cried, “O Phidias, br Why do you dally on a hidden hair? br When she is lifted to the lofty front br Of the Parthenon, no human eye will see.