 | Sonnets of the Wingless Hours |  |
83
THE WRECK OF HEAVEN.
I.
I had a vision: naught for miles and miles
But shattered columns, shattered walls of gold,
And precious stones that from their place had roll'd,
And lay in heaps, with litter'd golden tiles;
But shattered columns, shattered walls of gold,
And precious stones that from their place had roll'd,
And lay in heaps, with litter'd golden tiles;
While, here and there, amid the ruined piles
Of gold and sardius, and their sparkling mould,
Wild tufts of amaranth had taken hold,
Scenting the golden desert like sweet isles.
Of gold and sardius, and their sparkling mould,
Wild tufts of amaranth had taken hold,
Scenting the golden desert like sweet isles.
And not one soul, and not one step nor sound,
Until there started up a haggard head
Out of the gold, from somewhere underground.
Until there started up a haggard head
Out of the gold, from somewhere underground.
Wildly he eyed me and the wreck all round:
‘Who'rt thou?’ quoth I. He shrilled a laugh and said:
‘The last of souls. I haunt this dazzling mound.’
‘Who'rt thou?’ quoth I. He shrilled a laugh and said:
‘The last of souls. I haunt this dazzling mound.’
| Sonnets of the Wingless Hours | |