Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/326

298 The sad-eyed nuns, the warriors with drawn swords;

And the young Savior, throned at Mary's breast,

Was but some little child whom he loved best.

AT LUTHER'S GRAVE

WITTENBERG

BEETHOVEN

VIENNA

to a great city. Palaces

Rose glittering, mile on mile. Here dwells the King,

The Emperor and King; here lived, here ruled

How many mountainous far-looming fames;

Here is the crown of shadowy Charlemagne.

What housing of what glorious dignities!

Yet in a narrow street, unfrequented,

No palace near—one name upon a wall,

And all these majesties seem small and shrunk:

For here unto the bitter end abode