With granite, once a genius bridged a stream.
A builder once a rugged temple wrought;
On canvas once a painter fixed a thought;
A sculptor once in marble carved a dream;
A queen once built a tomb, and in the scheme
Of gold and bronze the quivering sunbeams caught;
Then came oblivion, unseen, unsought,
Contemptuous of thinker and of theme.
And some one wrote a book. Palace and Hall
Are gone. Marble and bronze are dust. The fanes
Are fallen which the sun old sought. The rook
At morn, caws garrulously over all.
All! All are gone. The book alone remains.
Man builds no structure which outlives a book.