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A Song for Vanished Beauty
The house is desolate and bare-
So long ago young Honora left
Her quiet chair!
Through the rose-bordered gardens, reft
Of all her pretty, tender care-
The silent hall, the lonely stair-
No one can see her anywhere.
Here is her shawl, her fan, her book-
She is not there.
No one remembers her bright hair,
Or how she looked, or when Death came.
Few can recall her name.
Marya Zaturensky
Where shall we turn to hope or look
For beauty vanished like an air?-
In what forgotten tomb or nook?