THE OBELISK

There rise the palace walls as fair to-day,

As when with arms and banners gleaming bright,

The pageantry of royal pomp and might

Passed through the guarded gates and went its way.

The blue, translucent beams of morning play

On arch triumphal, veiled in silver light;

And here, where blind red fury reached its height,

An ancient column rises grim and gray.

Slumbering in mystic sleep it seems to be,

And dreaming dreams of Egypt long ago,

Unmindful of the ceaseless ebb and flow

About its feet of life's unresting sea;

But‘ mid the roar, I hear it murmur low:

Poor fools, they know not all is vanity!