This poem took me straight to a line from one of my favourites - Samuel Butler's 'A Psalm of Montreal': Beauty crieth in an attic and no man regardeth
. That, too is a poem about a classical sculpture suddenly discovered in a place that is unworthy of it and its relevance here is best illustrated by clicking on this link:
Here you'll see the thought that made the poem - and then the poem itself. The former clear and exact, the latter spinning from it.
Now, as I read this one, I see what Joe means about it's wanting to become an essay but I feel that to some extent it already is an essay and wants to become a poem. A poem that takes me by a more vivid route to that great final line.