Smiles from its ruins; on the rocky verge
The past gleams visionary; in the noon I see
Prone columns and huge capitals o'erthrown,
A tract of marble desolation piled,
Edged by the bright sea where I tasted death."
Even to the Roamer's self the landscape round,
As when the wind breathes on a field of wheat
And lifts the poppies, laughter of the spring,
Seemed by the dying gleam of time o'erswept;
An instant—such illusion is in words—
He saw the symbol of the mighty world
Fading away, lost, recordless, annulled;
Then, waking from the momentary trance
And shadowy seizure dim, he knew himself;
Bright o'er him soared the sweet, eternal sky,
The home and eyrie of the bird of time
Forever,—"O calm, ageless blue," he cried,
Our house of life and temple of our faith,
What destinies unroll in thee agelong!"
He turned unto the desert prince, inspired:
"Fortunate is he born who lifts his land
Up to the heights of greatness, his bright death
Immortal, in its glory who expires!
He has advanced the world, whate'er his day,
And on his shoulders borne the orb of fate
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