 | Forest Notes |  |
72
ROTHENBERG
II
The old town dreams at noon; each empty sill
Stares blankly like the eyeballs of the dead.
Grey wall and gable, roof of faded red,
Rampart and tower the silent distance fill.
St. George upon the fountain charges still;
The water splashes in its sculptured bed;
But hum of guild is hushed, the 'prentice fled,
Vanished the weaver's art, the carver's skill.
Stares blankly like the eyeballs of the dead.
Grey wall and gable, roof of faded red,
Rampart and tower the silent distance fill.
St. George upon the fountain charges still;
The water splashes in its sculptured bed;
But hum of guild is hushed, the 'prentice fled,
Vanished the weaver's art, the carver's skill.
The Rath-haus dial lengthens with the day;
Across the sunset comes a sound of song;
The street wakes to the footfall of a throng
Of little maids green-garlanded and gay;
And all the old years, and the dead, dead long,
Troop back to life, and join the children's play.
Across the sunset comes a sound of song;
The street wakes to the footfall of a throng
Of little maids green-garlanded and gay;
And all the old years, and the dead, dead long,
Troop back to life, and join the children's play.
A.
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