She lies, a grave disdain all her defence, 
Too imperturbable for scorn. She hears 
Only the murmur of the flowing years 
That thunder slowly on her shores immense 
And ebb away in moaning impotence. 
Giants enduring, she and Time are peers-- 
Her dream-hazed eyes knowing no hopes, no tears, 
Her glance a langour-lidded insolence. 
And though the rabble of the restless West 
In her deserted courts set their rash sway, 
She heeds them not; as when the sun, withdrawn 
From his untarnished sky, knows it distressed 
By storm of weakling stars, that he at dawn 
Will wither with one ruthless glance away.