Page:Scenes and Hymns of Life.pdf/181



Your tents are desolate; your stately steps, Of all their choral dances, have not left One trace beside the fountains: your full cup Of gladness and of trembling, each alike Is broken: yet, amidst undying things, The mind still keeps your loveliness, and still All the fresh glories of the early world Hang round you in the spirit's pictured halls, Never to change!