22.07.2007, 14:51
The Past
In her strange, shadowy coronet she weareth
The faded jewels of an earlier time;
An ancient sceptre in her hand she beareth--
The purple of her robe is past its prime.
Through her thin silvery locks still dimly shineth
The flower-wreath woven by pale Memory's fingers.
Her heart is withered--yet it strangely shineth
In its lone urn, a light that fitful lingers.
With her low, muffled voice of mystery,
She reads old legends from Time's mouldering pages;
She telleth the Present the recorded history
And change perpetual of bygone ages:
Her pilgrim feet still seek the haunted sod
Once ours, but now by naught but Memory's footsteps trod.
In her strange, shadowy coronet she weareth
The faded jewels of an earlier time;
An ancient sceptre in her hand she beareth--
The purple of her robe is past its prime.
Through her thin silvery locks still dimly shineth
The flower-wreath woven by pale Memory's fingers.
Her heart is withered--yet it strangely shineth
In its lone urn, a light that fitful lingers.
With her low, muffled voice of mystery,
She reads old legends from Time's mouldering pages;
She telleth the Present the recorded history
And change perpetual of bygone ages:
Her pilgrim feet still seek the haunted sod
Once ours, but now by naught but Memory's footsteps trod.