Nor lacked there power of purpose in his hand

Who carved their several praise in words of gold

To bare the brows of conquerors and to brand,

Made shelterless of laurels bought and sold

For price of blood or incense, dust or sand,

Triumph or terror. He that sought of old

His father Ammon in a stranger's land,

And shrank before the serpentining fold,

Stood in our seer's wide eye

No higher than man most high,

And lowest in heart when highest in hope to hold

Fast as a scripture furled

The scroll of all the world

Sealed with his signet: nor the blind and bold

First thief of empire, round whose head

Swarmed carrion flies for bees, on flesh for violets fed.[1]

42.

As fire that kisses, killing with a kiss,

He saw the light of death, riotous and red,

Flame round the bent brows of Semiramis

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