 | Sonnets of the Wingless Hours |  |
84
THE WRECK OF HEAVEN.
II.
Ay, ay, the gates of pearl are crumbling fast;
The walls of beryl topple stone by stone;
The throngs of souls in white and gold are gone;
The jasper pillars lie where they were cast;
The walls of beryl topple stone by stone;
The throngs of souls in white and gold are gone;
The jasper pillars lie where they were cast;
The roofless halls of gold are dumb and vast;
The courts of jacinth are for ever lone;
Through shattered chrysolite the blind winds moan;
And topaz moulders into earth at last.
The courts of jacinth are for ever lone;
Through shattered chrysolite the blind winds moan;
And topaz moulders into earth at last.
And earth is the reality: its hue
Is brown and sad; its face is hard to till;
Upon man's brow the sweat must hang like dew.
Is brown and sad; its face is hard to till;
Upon man's brow the sweat must hang like dew.
But grain takes root, in valley, plain and hill,
Tho' never Heaven's amaranth here grew.
And grain breeds grain, and more and more grain still.
Tho' never Heaven's amaranth here grew.
And grain breeds grain, and more and more grain still.
| Sonnets of the Wingless Hours | |