What though fell Time leaves here and there a heap, Where long ago stood a frequented fane: As some exploit transforms a nameless plain— Where Industry her waving fields did reap— Into a storied place where strong men weep; So that dear mound,—within Saint Mary's aisle, The fortune-favoured remnant of this pile— From dull forgetfulness this shrine shall keep. And while the Eildon Hills their brows make bare, And his loved Tweed its plaintive lay is singing; While on this altar-site men breathe a prayer, Or to these stones their hearts like vines are clinging,— Though its own voices have been silent long, To God this roofless fane shall still belong. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE ORIGIN OF EVIL by JOHN BYROM SHILLIN' A DAY by RUDYARD KIPLING A FORSAKEN GARDEN by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE GRASS STEALERS by J. MURRAY ALLISON SUNRISE AND SUNSET: 2. SUNSET by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) FAREWELL TO CUBA by MARIA GOWEN BROOKS MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT AND FUSELI by ROBERT BROWNING |