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Daydreaming of the sun,
Of a day not yet begun
Upon a city that is to be—
A city standing silently.

Diamond will be the towers,
And softly sighing, the flowers
Will bloom from their earthen bed
While petals and waters are wed
In fountains of whispering bouquets
That glitter and glisten in the rays
Where shadows wander musically
To the weeping of the melancholy
That pervades the sunrise
Within the aureate skies.

No bells will ring within the steeple,
As wanders not the footfall of the people
Who shall sleep in their masses
Below the surrounding grasses
Of the heartless, breathless land,
Side-by-side and hand in hand.

Guestless the walkways shall lie,
Hearing not the cardinal’s cry.
Roses and thorns care not for the song,
Though he should sing all the day long
With the sea-wind blowing far away
‘Neath the moon that shines by day.

Breathless shall be the winter to come,
And no summer to be shall rise therefrom,
But all of glass, the city of blooms
Shall stand sentinel o’er the tombs.
And no rose shall be taken,
And no slumbering eye shall waken—
Their dreams, none ever shall know,
For restless their slumber faded years ago.

Ah! That dawn that shall rise
For none to see with weeping eyes,
Save for the shadows that move in woe
And the sea-winds that eternal flow.
No! None this sight shall ever view,
With its burning rays and glittering dew
Upon the city—all of ruby adorned
And the roses, the bloody roses bethorned.

© 2021 Marten Hoyle