I stood by the old fort's crumbling wall, On the eastern edge of the town: The sun through clefts in the ruined hall, Flecked with its light the rafters brown. Charmed by the magic spell of the place, The present vanished, the past returned; While rampart and fortress filled the space, And yonder the Indian camp-fires burned. Around me were waifs from every clime, Blown by the fickle winds of chance— Knight errants, ready at any time, For any cause, to couch a lance. The staunch old Captain with courtly grace, Owner of countless leagues of land, Benignly governed the motley race, Dispensing favors with open hand.... Only a moment the vision came; Where tower and rampart stood before Where flushed the night with the camp's red flame— Dust and ashes and nothing more! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THOUGHTS ON THE COMMANDMENTS by GEORGE AUGUSTUS BAKER JR. THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 110. THE OASIS OF SIDI KHALED by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT SONNET: TO FANNY by JOHN KEATS THE SONG OF HIAWATHA: THE FOUR WINDS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW MODERN LOVE: 1 by GEORGE MEREDITH |