The change—above the ruins of thy throne—
Whose vanished beauty we would fain retrieve
With all Earth’s thrones beside—we stand and grieve!
We weep not, for the world’s chill breath hath bound
In chains of ice the fountains of our tears,
But ever-mourning Memory thenceforth rears
Her altars upon desecrated ground,
And always, with a low despairful sound,
Tolls the disastrous bell of all our years!
M.