Hope smiled when your nativity was cast,
Children of Summer! 10 Ye fresh flowers
that brave
What Summer here escapes not, the fierce wave,
And whole artillery of the western blast,
Battering the Temple's front, its long-drawn nave
Smiting, as if each moment were their last.
But ye, bright flowers on frieze and architrave
Survive, and once again the Pile stands fast:
Calm as the Universe, from specular Towers
Of heaven contemplated by Spirits pure--
Suns and their systems, diverse yet sustained
In symmetry, and fashioned to endure,
Unhurt, the assault of Time with all his hours,
As the supreme Artificer ordained.
Design, coding, and editing: Copyright © 1998 by James M. Garrett. All rights reserved.