Classic Poem

Thy palace walls were founded well,
And well its courses thou didst lay;
One tower defied the genie's spell,
And stands a ruin to this day.

The Land of Flowers thou didst attain,
And see the spring's immortal jet;
Thy staff-worn hand was reached in vain—
Thy lips that crystal never wet!

With pains the altar thou didst dress,
And the burnt sacrifice prepare,
And call upon the God to bless—
All but the Fire from Heaven was there!

Thou shak'st thy lance on hard-fought field,
Thou sleep'st, the tingling stars above;—
Pity and praise sweet eyes can yield,
But ne'er vouchsafe the Light of Love!

What dost thou lack? 'Tis almost naught
That parts thee from thy Heart's Desire,—
A step—a span—an airy thought:
A pulse-beat more, thou didst require!