Classic Poem

O vanish'd star, fall'n flower, O god deceas'd
and deep in marble night sepulchred, where
rises the might that sank, disastrous flare,
in the agonizing dream thy latest priest?

Far hence in the awful vault another East
blossoms ecstatic rose and Eden air
is sweet on singing flesh that knows no share
in thy void grave whence all the springs have ceas'd.

Stars that with all our glory laden shift
aimless, what term is set unto this drift?
All dawns are spilt along the hopeless way,

and far the white hour when our darkling prayer
must be consumed and wrathful love shall slay:
— Ye are but jewels in her scatter'd hair.