 | Flower o' the thorn
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PHANTOM QUEST.
DEEP in the darkness of my grief I grope,
Where, in their sepulchres of silence frore,
The memories of the Mays that are no more
Sleep shrouded in the Winter's marble cope,
So but I may, within the Present's scope,
By the reconquered heats of heretofore,
Rekindled at rememorance's store,
Yet force to flower some phantom rose of hope.
—By the corpse-candles of retorted thought,
I track the trace of bygone happiness,
As one who o'er the midnight-darkened plain,
Whereon a fierce world-battle hath been fought,
Fares seeking for some dear one 'neath the press
Of dead and seeks, as I, I seek, in vain.
| Flower o' the thorn
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