THIS the true sign of ruin to a race -- It undertakes no march, and day by day Drowses in camp, or, with the laggard's pace, Walks sentry o'er possessions that decay; Destined, with sensible waste, to fleet away; -- For the first secret of continued power Is the continued conquest; -- all our sway Hath surety in the uses of the hour; If that we waste, in vain walled town and loft tower! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUCOLIC COMEDY: WHY by EDITH SITWELL PICTURES FROM APPLEDORE: 3 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL AD PATRIAM by CLINTON SCOLLARD THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION; A POEM. ENLARGED VERSION: BOOK 4 by MARK AKENSIDE GORMFLAITH'S SONG, FR. KING LEAR'S WIFE by GORDON BOTTOMLEY A LARGE EVENING AT THE CLUB (AS IT WAS ONCE) by BERTON BRALEY |