Letitia Elizabeth Landon - Fountain’s AbbeyLetitia Elizabeth Landon - Fountain’s Abbey
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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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