The Shrine

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The Shrine
by Sara Teasdale
From Helen of Troy and Other Poems Part II


There is no lord within my heart,
      Left silent as an empty shrine
      Where rose and myrtle intertwine,
Within a place apart.

No god is there of carven stone
      To watch with still approving eyes
      My thoughts like steady incense rise;
I dream and weep alone.

But if I keep my altar fair,
      Some morning I shall lift my head
      From roses deftly garlanded
To find the god is there.