  The Earth remembers many, many things, Kept of her pride, a rich and ancient lore,— The fading footprints of her transient Springs, Her nameless cities, and the stones they wore. Anointed shrines that men had perished for, And women who were music for their times, These, and the world's long iliads of war, Will haunt her heart like dear, remembered rhymes. I have imagined how it might be so, When Earth takes home this wandering dust again, There may be stories I shall come to know, Of tragic queens and towns and valiant men,— Old honoured tales that Earth may tell to me, As mothers do, for children at the knee. |
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