Ii

The monuments of mortals Are as the glory of the grass; Through Time's dim portals A voiceless, viewless wind doth pass, The blossoms fall before it in a day, The forest monarchs year by year decay, And man's great buildings slowly fade away. One after one, They pay to that dumb breath The tribute of their death, And are undone. The towers incline to dust, The massive girders rust, The domes dissolve in air, The pillars that upbear The lofty arches crumble, stone by stone, While man the builder looks about him in despair, For all his works of pride and power are overthrown.