SEPULTUREDeep in my heart, as in the hollow stoneAnd silence of some olden sepulchre,Thy silver beauty lies, and shall not stir—Forgotten, incorruptible, alone:Though altars darken, and a wind be blownFrom starless seas on beacon-fires that were—Within thy tomb, with oils of balm and myrrh,Forever burn the onyx lamps unknown.And though the bleak, Novembral gardens yieldRose-dust and ivy-leaf, nor any flow’rBe found through vermeil forest or wan field—Still, still the asphodel and lotos lieAround thy bed, and hour by silent hour,Exhale immortal fragrance like a sigh.
Deep in my heart, as in the hollow stoneAnd silence of some olden sepulchre,Thy silver beauty lies, and shall not stir—Forgotten, incorruptible, alone:Though altars darken, and a wind be blownFrom starless seas on beacon-fires that were—Within thy tomb, with oils of balm and myrrh,Forever burn the onyx lamps unknown.And though the bleak, Novembral gardens yieldRose-dust and ivy-leaf, nor any flow’rBe found through vermeil forest or wan field—Still, still the asphodel and lotos lieAround thy bed, and hour by silent hour,Exhale immortal fragrance like a sigh.
Deep in my heart, as in the hollow stoneAnd silence of some olden sepulchre,Thy silver beauty lies, and shall not stir—Forgotten, incorruptible, alone:Though altars darken, and a wind be blownFrom starless seas on beacon-fires that were—Within thy tomb, with oils of balm and myrrh,Forever burn the onyx lamps unknown.And though the bleak, Novembral gardens yieldRose-dust and ivy-leaf, nor any flow’rBe found through vermeil forest or wan field—Still, still the asphodel and lotos lieAround thy bed, and hour by silent hour,Exhale immortal fragrance like a sigh.
Deep in my heart, as in the hollow stoneAnd silence of some olden sepulchre,Thy silver beauty lies, and shall not stir—Forgotten, incorruptible, alone:Though altars darken, and a wind be blownFrom starless seas on beacon-fires that were—Within thy tomb, with oils of balm and myrrh,Forever burn the onyx lamps unknown.
Deep in my heart, as in the hollow stone
And silence of some olden sepulchre,
Thy silver beauty lies, and shall not stir—
Forgotten, incorruptible, alone:
Though altars darken, and a wind be blown
From starless seas on beacon-fires that were—
Within thy tomb, with oils of balm and myrrh,
Forever burn the onyx lamps unknown.
And though the bleak, Novembral gardens yieldRose-dust and ivy-leaf, nor any flow’rBe found through vermeil forest or wan field—Still, still the asphodel and lotos lieAround thy bed, and hour by silent hour,Exhale immortal fragrance like a sigh.
And though the bleak, Novembral gardens yield
Rose-dust and ivy-leaf, nor any flow’r
Be found through vermeil forest or wan field—
Still, still the asphodel and lotos lie
Around thy bed, and hour by silent hour,
Exhale immortal fragrance like a sigh.