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Letitia Elizabeth Landon - Fountain’s Abbey
Work rating: Low

NEVER more, when the day is o`er, 
	Will the lonely vespers sound;
	No bells are ringing—no monks are singing,
	When the moonlight falls around.

	A few pale flowers, which in other hours
	May have cheered the dreary mood;
	When the votary turned to the world he had spurned,
	And repined at the solitude.

	Still do they blow `mid the ruins below,
	For fallen are fane and shrine,
	And the moss has grown o`er the sculptured stone
	Of an altar no more divine.

	Still on the walls where the sunshine falls,
	The ancient fruit-tree grows;
	And o`er tablet and tomb, extends the bloom
	Of many a wilding rose.

	Fair though they be, yet they seemed to me
	To mock the wreck below;
	For mighty the tower, where the fragile flower
	May now as in triumph blow.

	Oh, foolish the thought, that my fancy brought;
	More true and more wise to say,
	That still thus doth spring, some gentle thing,
	With its beauty to cheer decay.
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