The rooks aclamor when one enters here 
Startle the empty towers far overhead; 
Through gaping walls the summer fields appear, 
Green, tan, or, poppy-mingled, tinged with red. 
The courts where revel rang deep grass and moss 
Cover, and tangled vines have overgrown 
The gate where banners blazoned with a cross 
Rolled forth to toss round Tyre and Ascalon. 
Decay consumes it. The old causes fade. 
And fretting for the contest many a heart 
Waits their Tyrtaeus to chant on the new. 
Oh, pass him by who, in this haunted shade 
Musing enthralled, has only this much art, 
To love the things the birds and flowers love too.