 | The Writings of Bret Harte |  |
383
CHICAGO
(THE GREAT CONFLAGRATION OF OCTOBER 8–10, 1871)
Blackened and bleeding, helpless, panting, prone,
On the charred fragments of her shattered throne
Lies she who stood but yesterday alone.
On the charred fragments of her shattered throne
Lies she who stood but yesterday alone.
Queen of the West! by some enchanter taught
To lift the glory of Aladdin's court,
Then lose the spell that all that wonder wrought.
To lift the glory of Aladdin's court,
Then lose the spell that all that wonder wrought.
Like her own prairies by some chance seed sown,
Like her own prairies in one brief day grown,
Like her own prairies in one fierce night mown.
Like her own prairies in one brief day grown,
Like her own prairies in one fierce night mown.
She lifts her voice, and in her pleading call
We hear the cry of Macedon to Paul—
The cry for help that makes her kin to all.
We hear the cry of Macedon to Paul—
The cry for help that makes her kin to all.
But haply with wan fingers may she feel
The silver cup hid in the proffered meal—
The gifts her kinship and our loves reveal.
The silver cup hid in the proffered meal—
The gifts her kinship and our loves reveal.
| The Writings of Bret Harte | |