O bowl that held the hot imprisoned fire,
Cup where the sacred essence used to burn---
That fluent essence that shall ne'er return---
Old home of Aspiration and Desire:
What art thou now to humour and admire?
A thing inconsequential one might spurn,
Thou art not e'en the scattered ashes' urn;---
Husk of the spirit that shall not expire.
Thou cage and shell of ancient busy Thought,
Nurse-house of Soul, the domicile of him
Long fled thy osseous walls that Nature wrought
To please proud Time's caprice and passing whim;
'Twixt two eternities a moment caught,
He rose from thee to join the seraphim.
Mary E Fullerton 1868 - 1946
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