BRUGES. THE DYING PAST.
I stand amazed to think the days
Will come when Bruges shall be no more;
That those who follow us will gaze
On vacant skies where we adore
Majestic silhouettes that war
Or time's caress shall raze.
It gives me pause to think the laws
Of death are of such adamant
That towers that win high heaven's applause
And pinnacles where angels chant
And stones that guard an age extant
Perish like sticks and straws.
O could the frail past glass its form
Forever in our revery,
And tremble, clear and uniform,
In the canals of fantasy
In limpid immortality
That knows nor shock nor storm!
O could the bell of Notre Dame
Toll down the future like a gong
Whose golden tremors slow and calm
Circle like waves! Could we prolong
In the unthreatened bronze of song
The belfry's strident psalm!
O could the grand past set its seal
Upon our hearts before it die!
O could it grave its dim ideal
Forever in man's memory
That when its shrines in ruin lie
Song might its grace reveal!
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