WE, too, shall pass; we, too, shall disappear, Ev'n as the mighty nations that have waned And perished. Not more surely are ordained The crescence and the cadence of the year, High-hearted June, October drooped and sere, Than this gray consummation. We have reigned Augustly; let our part be so sustained That in far morns, whose voice we shall not hear, It may be said: "This Mistress of the sword And conquering prow, this Empire swoln with spoils, Yet served the Human Cause, yet strove for Man; Hers was the purest greatness we record; We whose ingathered sheaves her tilth foreran: Whose Peace comes of her tempests, and her toils." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON SOME LINES OF LOPE DE VEGA by SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784) NIOBE: INEXORABLE DEATH by AESCHYLUS THE COLLEGE, 1917 by HAMILTON FISH ARMSTRONG THE LITTLE OLD WOMEN by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE THE DEATH OF YE LIFE OF LOVE by JOSEPH BEAUMONT CIVILIZATION by E. P. BROWNING SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 23 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |