THE RUINED SHRINE.
HE sky is blossoming with gold, Bright gardens sowed with light,Flowers that bloom in mystic cloud, Die in Mosaic night.The ruined shrine, with gold is decked, The drooping weeds are strungWith jewels from the sunset mine, Which dance the leaves among.
Tho' dim and stained the fresco is, Defaced with blots of time,Green are the vine and ivy spray, That in love's union climb.
The wayside shrine is lighted too By sunset's flash of gold,That glimmers with a lustre, brief As a life-tale that is told.
