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