Whither, O city, are your profits and your gilded shrines, And your barbecues of great oxen, And the tall women walking your streets, in gilt clothes, With their perfumes in little alabaster boxes? Where is the work of your home-born sculptors? Time's tooth is into the lot, and war's and fate's too. Envy has taken your all, Save your douth and your story. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LINES ON OBSERVING A BLOSSOM [ON THE FIRST OF FEBRUARY 1796] by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE ON BURNING A DULL POEM; WRITTEN IN 1729 by JONATHAN SWIFT TO KEEP THE PEACE by DANIEL GARNETT BICKERS ETERNITY by GRACE GRISWOLD BISBY |