SPRING, summer, autumn, winter, Come duly, as of old; Winds blow, suns set, and morning saith, "Ye hills, put on your gold." The song of Homer liveth, Dead Solon is not dead; Thy splendid name, Pythagoras, O'er realms of suns is spread. But Babylon and Memphis Are letters traced in dust: Read them, earth's tyrants! ponder well The might in which ye trust! They rose, while all the depths of guilt Their vain creators sounded; They fell, because on fraud and force Their corner-stones were founded. Truth, mercy, knowledge, justice, Are powers that ever stand; They build their temples in the soul, And work with God's right hand. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MARRIAGE A-LA-MODE: SONG by JOHN DRYDEN REPRESSION OF WAR EXPERIENCE by SIEGFRIED SASSOON THE DRUM: THE NARRATIVE OF THE DEMON OF TEDWORTH by EDITH SITWELL AT THE GRAVE OF BURNS; SEVEN YEARS AFTER HIS DEATH by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE CALIPH'S DRAUGHT by EDWIN ARNOLD DOOMSDAY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |