THOU know'st the place where purple rocks receive The deepened silence of the pausing stream; And myrtles and white olives interweave Their cool grey shadows with the azure gleam Of noontide; and pale temple columns cleave Those waves with shafts of light (as through a dream Of sorrow, pierced the memories of loved hours— Cold and fixed thoughts that will not pass away) All chapleted with wreaths of marble flowers, Too calm to live,—too lovely to decay. And hills rise round, pyramidal and vast, Like tombs built of blue heaven, above the clay Of those who worshipped here, whose steps have past To silence—leaving o'er the waters cast The light of their religion. There, at eve, That gentle dame would walk, when night-birds make The starry myrtle blossoms pant and heave With waves of ceaseless song; she would awake The lulled air with her kindling thoughts, and leave Her voice's echo on the listening lake; The quenched rays of her beauty would deceive Its depths into quick joy. Hill, wave, and brake Grew living as she moved: I did believe That they were lovely, only for her sake; But now—she is not there—at least, the chill Hath passed upon her which no sun shall break. Stranger, my feet must shun the lake and hill:— Seek them,—but dream not they are lovely still. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PLEDGE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ANSWER TO PRAYER by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON TO CARMEN SYLVA (QUEEN OF ROUMANIA) by EMMA LAZARUS CORPORATE ENTITY by ARCHIBALD MACLEISH CHRISTMAS AT INDIAN POINT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS JOHN WILKES BOOTH AT THE FARM (JANUARY 12, 1848) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO A LADY WHO HAD OFFERED HIM A WREATH OF LAUREL by GEORGE SANTAYANA |