SECURELY, after days 
    Unnumbered, I behold 
Kings mourn that promised praise 
    Their cheating bards foretold.
Of earth-constricting wars, 
    Of Princes passed in chains, 
Of deeds out-shining stars, 
    No word or voice remains.
 
Yet furthest times receive, 
    And to fresh praise restore, 
Mere flutes that breathe at eve, 
    Mere seaweed on the shore;
 
A smoke of sacrifice; 
    A chosen myrtle-wreath; 
An harlot’s altered eyes; 
    A rage ’gainst love or death;
 
Glazed snow beneath the moon; 
    The surge of storm-bowed trees— 
The Caesars perished soon, 
    And Rome Herself: But these
 
Endure while Empires fall 
    And Gods for Gods make room . . . 
Which greater God than all 
    Imposed the amazing doom?
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