The Thirteen

O'er the fair remembrance garden--
Fairest garden beaded in diamond dew
'Neath funeral dawn of remorseful hue
With pearl crucifix of soft sheen
Thirteen in veils pendulous are seen.

Fitfully the Thirteen Weep
For the terror of eternal sleep,
Their gowns fluttering, curious soft
While the angels far aloft
With eyes bedight in sorrow begin
To stroke the golden strings:
A song of sweet forgiven sin
For all this dejection of fallen kings
In so light a wind at birth of day
Their mournful veils are swept away.

High flags--Oh! Gold-rimmed, samite veils
Float and drift as a lost ship's sails
From walls of black towers that surround
The high grasses of that sacred ground,
And spirits watch in tearful wonder
As the stones crack with voices of thunder,
And the Thirteen view each brick pulled apart
With the stilling of their lost Lord's heart.

And each tear of that crystal mourning
Bleeds shattered love to the bones of their king.