ONCE from the world of living men
 I passed, by a strange fancy led,
 To a still City of the Dead,
To call upon a citizen. 
He had been famous in his day;
 Much talked of, written of, and praised
 For virtues my small soul amazed?
And yet I thought his heart was clay. 

He was too full of grace for me:
 His friends said, on a marble stone,
 His soul sat somewhere near the Throne
I did not know; I called to see. 

His name and fame were on the door?
 A most superior tomb indeed,
 Much railed, and gilt, and filigreed;
He occupied the lower floor. 

I knocked?a worm crawled from its hole:
I looked?and knew it for his soul.