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On the Destruction of the Main Building

By MEREDITH NEILL POSEY

Lone Goth, stalwart, crowded, towering, still in mellow strength undaunted,
Giant of earlier days, strong in thew and sinew,
Age creeps on you, ivy-tendrilled,
Age your headsman's axe.
Dust of ages long ago clings about you now at last.
You have marched thus far with time, but-
Death awaits you!

Tall-spired buildings snatched from a fire-doomed fall,
Silent--no bells ring, wires are dumb, the steam is off, the rooms are cold,
not a window blinks with light.
You were not made for pavements, patches, and parterres.
Vastness and bluebonnet vista were yours.
The past you served, your vision ever forward.
You die and serve the future so; your death --
A birth and a memory!

Killers come to you with bars and hammers;
They pry, loosen, and throw.
Soon half will be gone, soon all.
Do you hear them changing their Greek and Latin lore?
Are you mourners only the ghosts of ages gone?
That steam shovel shrieking and grunting is digging your grave --
Proudly descend!