THE knell that dooms the voiceless and obscure
⁠Stills Memnon's music with its ghostly chime;
⁠Strength is as weakness in the clasp of Time,
And for the things that were there is no cure.
The vineyard with its fair investiture,
⁠The mountain summit with its hoary rime,
⁠The throne of Cæsar, Cheops' tomb sublime,
Alike decay, and only dreams endure.

Dreams for Assyria her worship won,
⁠And India is hallowed by her dreams;
The Sphinx with deathless visage views the race
⁠That like the lotus of a summer seems;
And, rudderless, immortally sails on
The wingèd Victory of Samothrace.