And kings and heroes,

And Alexanders,

And wicked Neros,

And princes, lofty in might and lust,

Are all transformed to—a handful dust.

[Pg 25]

In lowly earth, upon which they bother

And beg and wrangle for rank and gift,

I mix the races among each other,

I lay the centuries, drift on drift.

Forlorn and friendless

Exists no pleasure;

In shadows endless

No pomp, or treasure.

Their owners left them when on came night—

Now others claim them, with lawful right.

[Pg 26]

There is no stronghold on earth erected,

No guarded fort, that can save you, known.

Though by recorded transfer protected,

 Prev. P 12/31 next