Page:The Poems of Oscar Wilde.pdf/19

 Watching the tide of seasons as they flow

From amorous Spring to Winter's rain and snow,

And have no thought of sorrow;—here, indeed,

Are Lethe's waters, and that fatal weed

Which makes a man forget his fatherland.

Ay! amid lotus-meadows dost thou stand,

Like Proserpine, with poppy-laden head,

Guarding the holy ashes of the dead.

For though thy brood of warrior sons hath ceased,

Thy noble dead are with thee!—they at least

Are faithful to thine honour:—guard them well,

O childless city! for a mighty spell,

To wake men's hearts to dreams of things sublime,

Are the lone tombs where rest the Great of Time.

Yon lonely pillar, rising on the plain,

Marks where the bravest knight of France was slain,—

The Prince of chivalry, the Lord of war,

Gaston de Foix: for some untimely star

Led him against thy city, and he fell,

As falls some forest-lion fighting well. 5