The Stone Cold and gray, unmoving, stern,

Beneath my hand a memory stirs.

It holds within its silent theme

The laughter of waters that once were hers,

A sound of progress that slumbered deep,

The echo of ages in silence wait,

Sheltering dreams that drift and weep.

Here lies the past with no sound to fare,

Unseen forever, unthought of die,

Yet time can carve upon its face,

The story anew of earth and sky.

• John Gould Fletcher