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Walter de la Mare - The Corner Stone
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    Sterile these stones
    By time in ruin laid.
    Yet many a creeping thing
    Its haven has made
    In these least crannies, where falls
    Dark`s dew, and noonday shade.

    The claw of the tender bird
    Finds lodgment here;
    Dye-winged butterflies poise;
    Emmet and beetle steer
    Their busy course; the bee
    Drones, laden, near.

    Their myriad-mirrored eyes
    Great day reflect.
    By their exquisite farings
    Is this granite specked;
    Is trodden to infinite dust;
    By gnawing lichens decked.

    Toward what eventual dream
    Sleeps its cold on,
    When into ultimate dark
    These lives shall be gone,
    And even of man not a shadow remain
    Of all he has done?
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