Page:Bierce - Collected Works - Volume 04.djvu/96

90 The lupin blooms among the tombs,
 * The quail recalls her brood.

Ah, good it is to sit and trace
 * The shadow of the cross;

It moves so still from place to place
 * O'er marble, bronze and moss;

With graves to mark upon its arc
 * Our time's eternal loss.

And sweet it is to watch the bee
 * That revels in the roses,

And sense the fragrance floating free
 * On every breeze that dozes

Upon the mound, where, safe and sound.
 * Mine enemy reposes.

Long ago the world was finer—
 * Why it failed I do not know:

All the virtues were diviner; Robber, miser, and maligner
 * Had not been created. No,
 * Truth and honor flourished, though.
 * Long ago.