"For, far beneath the flame-fleck'd, shifting sands,
"Below the roots of palms, and under stones
"Of younger ruins, thrones, tow'rs and cities
"Honeycomb the earth. The high, solemn walls
"Of hoary ruins--their foundings all unknown
"(But to the round-ey'd worlds that walk
"In the blank paths of Space and blanker Chance).
"At whose stones young mountains wonder, and the seas'
"New-silv'ring, deep-set valleys pause and gaze;
"Are rear'd upon old shrines, whose very Gods
"Were dreams to the shrine-builders, of a time
"They caught in far-off flashes--as the child
"Half thinks he can remember how one came
"And took him in her hand and shew'd him that
"He thinks, she call'd the sun. Proud ships rear high
"On ancient billows that have torn the roots
"Of cliffs, and bitten at the golden lips
"Of firm, sleek beaches, till they conquer'd all,
"And sow'd the reeling earth with salted waves.
"Wrecks plunge, prow foremost, down still, solemn slopes,
"And bring their dead crews to as dead a quay;
"Some city built before that ocean grew,
"By silver drops from many a floating cloud,
"By icebergs bellowing in their throes of death,
"By lesser seas toss'd from their rocking cups,
"And leaping each to each; by dew-drops flung
"From painted sprays, whose weird leaves and flow'rs
"Are moulded for new dwellers on the earth,
"Printed in hearts of mountains and of mines.
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