Not with her ruined silver spires,
Not with her cities shamed and rent,
Perish the imperishable fires
I MEANT to be so strong and true!
The world may smile and question, When?
But what I might have been to you
On a sheer peak of joy we meet;
Below us hums the abyss;
Death either way allures our feet
If we take one step amiss.
On immemorial altitudes august
Grief holds her high dominion. Bold the feet
Immense, august, like some Titanic bloom,
The mighty choir unfolds its lithic core,
SOMEWHERE, O sun, some corner there must be
Thou visitest, where down the strand
Quietly, still, the waves go out to sea