THE BROKEN CIRCLE
by: Oliver Wendell Holmes
(1809-1894)
- STOOD on
Sarum's treeless plain,
- The waste that careless Nature owns;
- Lone tenants of her bleak domain,
- Loomed huge and gray the Druid stones.
-
- Upheaved in many a billowy mound
- The sea-like, naked turf arose,
- Where wandering flocks went nibbling round
- The mingled graves of friends and foes.
-
- The Briton, Roman, Saxon, Dane,
- This windy desert roamed in turn;
- Unmoved these mighty blocks remain
- Whose story none that lives may learn.
-
- Erect, half buried, slant or prone,
- These awful listeners, blind and dumb,
- Hear the strange tongues of tribes unknown,
- As wave on wave they go and come.
-
- "Who are you, giants, whence and why?"
- I stand and ask in blank amaze;
- My soul accepts their mute reply:
- "A mystery, as are you that gaze.
-
- "A silent Orpheus wrought the charm
- From riven rocks their spoils to bring;
- A nameless Titan lent his arm
- To range us in our magic ring.
-
- "But Time with still and stealthy stride,
- That climbs and treads and levels all,
- That bids the loosening keystone slide,
- And topples down the crumbling wall,--
-
- "Time, that unbuilds the quarried past,
- Leans on these wrecks that press the sod;
- They slant, they stoop, they fall at last,
- And strew the turf their priests have trod.
-
- "No more our altar's wreath of smoke
- Floats up with morning's fragrant dew;
- The fires are dead, the ring is broke,
- Where stood the many stand the few."
-
- My thoughts had wandered far away,
- Borne off on Memory's outspread wing,
- To where in deepening twilight lay
- The wrecks of friendship's broken ring.
-
- Ah me! of all our goodly train
- How few will find our banquet hall!
- Yet why with coward lips complain
- That this must lean, and that must fall?
-
- Cold is the Druid's altar-stone,
- Its vanished flame no more returns;
- But ours no chilling damp has known,--
- Unchanged, unchanging, still it burns.
-
- So let our broken circle stand
- A wreck, a remnant, yet the same,
- While one last, loving, faithful hand
- Still lives to feed its altar-flame!
"The Broken Circle" is
reprinted from The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes.
Oliver Wendell Holmes. New York: Houghton, Mifflin & Co.,
1892. |
MORE POEMS BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES |
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