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Odes Of A Boy.
by Margaret Steele AndersonFades the great pyramid, the blank walls fade!
And thou, immortal boy, dost walk with me
Along that grove from out whose deeper shade
The nightingale sings living ecstasy.
And where thy burial-stone so long is set
With plaintive lines that tell a day's despair,
Lo, now that urn with happy figures fret
Which cannot fail, but go eternal fair!
Yet, suddenly, the wind of death is blown
On all earth 's beauty, even at its prime;
The red rose drops, the hand of Joy is flown,
And thou, oh, thou art dust this long, long time!