"Upon these stones Time broke his teeth," you said. We stood in Penreb's tomb, and stared upon The hammered blocks that held the royal dead Whose pomp still stood, altho' his breath was gone. You said, "Slaves sweated for that narrow room." Their scattered bones are mixed with desert sand; But on the high walls, ruddy in the gloom, The files of the king's servitors yet stand. We shall not rear to death such monuments With massive marble, nor with crimson chalk. Nor wrap our withered limbs in cerements More spicy than our rare ephemeral talk. So Time, who broke his teeth upon these stones, Gnaws at our hearts, careless of Penreb's bones. |