Saturday, June 07, 2014

6/7

They stand, all
Along the course
Of our years,
Solemn monuments
Of unfaithfulness;
And none return,
Save in haunted memory:
Life is full of too lates;
That sad sound
Of the moment lost,
That moans through
The roofless ruins
Of our past,
Like the desert wind
Through some cold,
Deserted temple.

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