by Luis G. Dato

Within their lake-hushed silence the rocks speak,
On their reflections in the water pour,
Under a spell inscrutable they seek
Enchantments of the dead, lost yester-year.

What voices long since hushed these rocks could toll,
If inarticulate they cease awhile?
But here they lie beneath a nameless spell,
Speechless, by some we know not monstrous guile.

What are their dreams beside this lake,
Of pleasures fled and whims that cannot be?
What sight unquiet keep them nights awake
Stilled, end forever, by what sorcery?

Their memories, Remembrance, glad or dire,
They cannot have that had it long ago,
As, dead alike to rapture or desire,
They stand immobile, hear no water flow.

But this we know, as where we take a seat
Far from the roar of traffic, and the whirl;
Here will oblivion find a strange retreat,
And coo sweet nothings to a trusting girl.

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