Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/273

Rh THE DOUBTER

THE PARTHENON BY MOONLIGHT

I

is an island of the golden Past

Uplifted in the tranquil sea of night.

In the white splendor how the heart beats fast,

When climbs the pilgrim to this gleaming hight;

As might a soul, new-born, its wondering way

Take through the gates of pearl and up the stair

Into the precincts of celestial day,

So to this shrine my worshiping feet did fare.

II

But look! what tragic waste! Is Time so lavish

Of dear perfection thus to see it spilled?

'T was worth an empire;—now behold the ravish

That laid it low. The soaring plain is filled

With the wide-scattered letters of one word

Of loveliness that nevermore was spoken;

Nor ever shall its like again be heard:

Not dead is art—but that high charm is broken.