David Morton Poems

The Kings are passing deathward in the dark
   Of days that had been splendid where they went;
Their crowns are captive and their courts are stark
   Of purples that are ruinous, now, and rent.
...

There is a memory stays upon old ships,
   A weightless cargo in the musty hold, --
Of bright lagoons and prow-caressing lips,
   Of stormy midnights, -- and a tale untold.
...

My faith is all a doubtful thing,
   Wove on a doubtful loom, --
Until there comes, each showery spring,
   A cherry-tree in bloom;
...

Men who have loved the ships they took to sea,
Loved the tall masts, the prows that creamed with foam,
...

Here is the record of their splendid days:
The curving prow, the tall and stately mast,
And all the width and wonder of their ways
...

These walls will not forget, through later days,
How they had bloomed with lifted, tossing heads
Of swaying girls who thronged these ordered ways,
...