WHITE in her woven shroud,
Silent she lies,
Deaf to the trumpets loud
Blown through the skies:
Never a sound can mar
Her slumber long ;
She is a faded star, —
A finished song !
Over her hangs the sun,
A golden glow ;
Round her the planets run,
She does not know:
For neither gloom nor gleam
Can reach her sight:
She is a broken dream, —
A dead delight!
No voice can waken her
Again to sing;
She nevermore will stir
To feel the spring;
Through the dim ether hurled
Till Time shall tire,
She is a wasted world, —
A frozen fire !
Frank Dempster Sherman.