The days remember and the nights remember The kingly hours that once you made so great, Deep in my heart they lie, hidden in their splendor, Buried like sovereigns in their robes of state. Let them not wake again, better to lie there, Wrapped in memories, jeweled and arrayed Many a ghostly king has waked from death-sleep And found his crown stolen and his throne decayed.
Return to the Sara Teasdale library , or . . . Read the next poem; The Old Maid