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.