• Tattered Photograph's Gallery
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  • Artist Info:
    They cut it down, and where the pitch-black aisles<br />
    Of forest night had hid eternal things,<br />
    They scaled the sky with towers and marble piles<br />
    To make a city for their revellings.<br />
    <br />
    White and amazing to the lands around<br />
    That wondrous wealth of domes and turrets rose;<br />
    Crystal and ivory, sublimely crowned<br />
    With pinnacles that bore unmelting snows.<br />
    <br />
    And through its halls the pipe and sistrum rang,<br />
    While wine and riot brought their scarlet stains;<br />
    Never a voice of elder marvels sang,<br />
    Nor any eye called up the hills and plains.<br />
    <br />
    Thus down the years, till on one purple night<br />
    A drunken minstrel in his careless verse<br />
    Spoke the vile words that should not see the light,<br />
    And stirred the shadows of an ancient curse.<br />
    <br />
    Forests may fall, but not the dusk they shield;<br />
    So on the spot where that proud city stood,<br />
    The shuddering dawn no single stone revealed,<br />
    But fled the blackness of a primal wood.
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