Have long forgotten how to weep;
And death and love and life have whirled
To orbits new and strange since she
Who was the heart of that old world
Made room for these changed things to be.
Past her still resting-place all day,
With rush and flash and resonant roar,
The tide of travel takes its way
Along the bay-indented shore.
Shrill sounds the flying clamor, blent