His heart, to me, was a place of palaces and pinnacles and
shining towers;
I saw it then as we see things in dreams,--I do not remember
how long I slept;
I remember the trees, and the high, white walls, and how
the sun was always on the towers;
The walls are standing to-day, and the gates: I have been
through the gates, I have groped, I have crept
Back, back. There is dust in the streets, and blood; they
are empty; darkness is over them;
His heart is a place with the lights gone out, forsaken by great
winds and the heavenly rain, unclean and unswept,
Like the heart of the holy city, old, blind, beautiful Jerusalem,
Over which Christ wept.