Touched with the delicate green of early May, 
Or later, when the rose uplifts her face, 
The world hangs glittering in starry space, 
Fresh as a jewel found but yesterday. 
And yet 'tis very old; what tongue may say 
How old it is? Race follows upon race, 
Forgetting and forgotten; in their place 
Sink tower and temple; nothing long may stay. 
We build on tombs, and live our day, and die; 
From out our dust new towers and temples start; 
Our very name becomes a mystery. 
What cities no man ever heard of lie 
Under the glacier, in the mountain's heart, 
In violet glooms beneath the moaning sea!