THE GOLDEN THRESHOLD(42)

    I muse among these silent fanes Whose spacious darkness guards your dust； Around me sleep the hoary plains That hold your ancient wars in trust. I pause, my dreaming spirit hears, Across the wind's unquiet tides, The glimmering music of your spears, The laughter of your royal brides.

    In vain, O Kings, doth time aspire To make your names oblivion's sport, While yonder hill wears like a tier The ruined grandeur of your fort. Though centuries falter and decline, Your proven strongholds shall remain Embodied memories of your line, Incarnate legends of your reign.

    O Queens, in vain old Fate decreed Your flower-like bodies to the tomb； Death is in truth the vital seed Of your imperishable bloom Each new-born year the bulbuls sing Their songs of your renascent loves； Your beauty wakens with the spring To kindle these pomegranate groves.