Vanished is the ancient splendor, and before my dreamy eye
Wave these mingling shapes and figures, like a faded tapestry.
Not thy councils, not thy Kaisers, win for thee the world's regard;
But thy painter, Albrecht Dürer, and Hans Sachs thy cobbler-bard.
Thus, O Nuremberg, a wanderer from a region far away,
As he paced thy streets and courtyards, sang in thought his careless lay;
Gathering from the pavement's crevice, as a floweret of the soil,
The nobility of labor—the long pedigree of toil.
"How very beautiful!" said Nellie. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Winter, for reciting it to us. I shall learn it myself when I get home, trusting I may sometime give as much pleasure to another as you have given me."
Mr. Winter said, "Why, Agnes, I never heard you recite that poem so well."