Above the marsh a hollow monument, Ribbed with aluminum, enormous tent Sheeted with silver, set to face the gale Of the steady trade that swelled the clipper sail, The hangar stands, with doors now buckled close Against the summer wind, the empty house Reserves a space shaped to the foundered dream. The @3Macon@1, lost, moves with the ocean stream. Level the marshes, far and low the hills, The useless structure, firm on ample sills, Rises incredible to state again: @3Thus massive was the vessel, built in vain@1. For this one purpose the long sides were planned To lines like those of downward pouring sand, Time-sifting sand; but Time immobile stayed, In substance bound, in these bright walls delayed. This housed the shape that plunged through stormy air. Empty cocoon: yet was the vision fair That like a firm bright cloud moved from the arch, Leaving this roof to try a heavenly march; Impermanent, impractical, designed To frame a paradox and strongly bind The weight, the weightless, in a living shape To cruise the sky and round the cloudy Cape. Less substance than a mathematic dream Locked in the hollow keel and webbed beam! Of the ingenious mind, the expensive pride, The highest hope, the last invention tried: And now the silver tent alone remains. Slowly the memory of disaster wanes. Still in the summer sun the bastions burn Until the inordinate dream again return. |