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