Imagination

Time's spider lurks and lies in wait; And on its poisoned claws, the beast All watchful glides, assails, and grasps The ruin. O thrice-holy beauties!

In vain all props and wisdom's arts! In vain a tribe of sages seek To save it! Time's remaining crumbs Are scattered far and melt like frost.

Then from the lofty land of Thought, Imagination came, a goddess Among the gods, and made again,

Even where until now the ruin Crumbled, what only its hands can make-- Deathless the first-born Parthenon.

1896.