THE presence of perpetual change Is ever on the earth; To-day is only as the soil That gives to-morrow birth. Where stood the tower there grows the weed; Where stood the weed the tower: No present hour its likeness leaves To any future hour. Of each imperial city built Far on the eastern plains, A desert waste of tomb and sand Is all that now remains. Our own fair city filled with life, Has yet a future day, When power, and might, and majesty, Will yet have passed away. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: THE CORONER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS AN HYMN IN HONOUR OF BEAUTY by EDMUND SPENSER CORTEGE FOR ROSENBLOOM by WALLACE STEVENS MIDNIGHT THOUGHTS by LUCY AIKEN NOT TO BE MINISTERED TO by MALTBIE DAVENPORT BABCOCK SONNET TO A FRIEND, ON HIS SECOND MARRIAGE by BERNARD BARTON |