DREAMING OF CITIES DEAD
Reading edition
By Eleanor Rogers Cox
Dreaming of cities dead, Of bright Queens vanished, Of kings whose names were but as seed wind-blown E’en when white Patrick’s voice shook Tara’s throne, My way along the great world-street I tread, And keep the rites of Beauty lost, alone.
Cairns level with the dust— Names dim with Time’s dull rust— Afar they sleep on many a wind-swept hill, The beautiful, the strong of heart and will— On whose pale dreams no sunrise joy shall burst, No harper’s song shall pierce with battle-thrill. Long from their purpled heights, Their reign of high delights, The Queens have wended down Death’s mildewed stair, Leaving a scent of lilies on the air, To gladden Earth through all her days and nights, That once she cherished anything so fair.