That shall endure awhile through change and chance,
And have the meaning of a childhood shrine,
Remembered when the faith of childhood dies.
Now fails the song, and down the lonely ways
The last low echoes die upon the breeze.
I lay my lyre upon the moveless knees
Of her who by the hollow roadway stays,
In anguish waiting for her children slain
That shall not come again
With springtime, leading the new lambs to graze.