THIS the true sign of ruin to a race -- It undertakes no march, and day by day Drowses in camp, or, with the laggard's pace, Walks sentry o'er possessions that decay; Destined, with sensible waste, to fleet away; -- For the first secret of continued power Is the continued conquest; -- all our sway Hath surety in the uses of the hour; If that we waste, in vain walled town and loft tower! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: 109 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE SOBBING OF THE BELLS (MIDNIGHT, SEPT. 19-20, 1881) by WALT WHITMAN PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 58. AL-MUHSI by EDWIN ARNOLD DESERT WATERCOLOR by RUBY BOWEN CHRIST AND THE MOURNERS by KATHERINE ELEANOR CONWAY SONNET: 1 by CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH TO THE QUEEN, AN APOLOGIE FOR THE LENGTH OF THE PANEGYRICK by RICHARD CRASHAW |