By Sara Teasdale
The days remember and the nights remember
The kingly hours that once you made so great,
Deep in my heart they lie, hidden in their splendor,
Buried like sovereigns in their robes of state.
Let them not wake again, better to lie there,
Wrapped in memories, jewelled and arrayed —
Many a ghostly king has waked from death-sleep
And found his crown stolen and his throne decayed.