Should her forehead, the fairest of visions,
Sink under the silent lagoon,
And the sea, tombing all her traditions,
Leave a waste for the loon;
Should she melt as a mist evanescent,
Or fade as a myth from a scroll,—
Yet her wraith would arise juvenescent,
Aglow with a great aureole;
Still her glamour eternally crescent,
Supreme o’er the spirit would roll;