Memnon Mute Poem by Mark Sauer

Once thousands gathered at each dawn in spring
Silent at the foot of the colossus,
Rapt, in hopes of hearing his song. For us
Memnon is mute; the statue does not sing.
Oft, if he sang, each heard a different thing;
A clap, a twang of plucked lute, a chorus
Chanting, a chirp of lark, a serpent's hiss;
Yet each departed changed by the blessing.
Now the phoenix is not seen; ruined Delphi
Echoes; no Indic ants sift for gold dust;
King Xerxes' golden sycamore is gone.
The Sybil died alone, as marvels die.
I mourn the lost wonders in an age of rust,
But most of all I long for Memnon's song.