Where memory broods, sphinx-like, with folded wings, Far in the miraged desert of man's mind, The caravans of thought through dim ways wind Unto the tombs amid the wreck of things. Fearless forever in their wanderings, And leaving all the wondrous world behind, They search the wilderness only to find The pyramids beside Sahara's springs. Close by the monuments that tower above The heart's first dead, a living stream of love Keeps green through all the years one garden spot; And often, pilgrim-wise, our thoughts retrace The weary way unto that sacred place, Remembering whom the world remembers not. |