PRINCETON -- THE LAST DAY
by: F. Scott Fitzgerald
- HE last
light wanes and drifts across the land,
- The low, long land, the sunny land of spires.
- The ghosts of evening tune again their lyres
- And wander singing, in a plaintive band
- Down the long corridors of trees. Pale fires
- Echo the night from tower top to tower.
- Oh sleep that dreams and dream that never tires,
- Press from the petals of the lotus-flower
- Something of this to keep, the essence of an hour!
- No more to wait the twilight of the moon
- In this sequestrated vale of star and spire;
- For one, eternal morning of desire
- Passes to time and earthy afternoon.
- Here, Heracletus, did you build of fire
- And changing stuffs your prophecy far hurled
- Down the dead years; this midnight I aspire
- To see, mirrored among the embers, curled
- In flame, the splendor and the sadness of the world.
MORE POEMS BY F. SCOTT FITZGERALD
"Princeton -- The Last Day"
is reprinted from the Nassau Literary Magazine, June 1917.