The altar

Fotografia Olho de Gato

I built an unnamed altar in my heart, 

And sculptured sacred garlands for a frieze 

From delicately petalled memories,— 

The fragrance of a word, the fragile art 

Of ash-gold hair, dim visioned things that start 

With radiant wings from mist of reveries, 

And vanish at the telling as a breeze

Blurs mirrored stars in dark pools set apart.

But, as I worshiped reverently there 

The symbols of the beautiful, there came 

A light aslant the shadows of my prayer 

That silenced mine uplifted lips with shame. 

The garlands coldly carven in that fair 

Unmeaning tracery enscrolled—thy name.

Archibald MacLeish