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XLVIII Or go to Rome, which is the sepulchre, Oh, not of him, but of our joy; 'tis nought That ages, empires, and religions, there Lie buried in the ravage they have wrought ; For such as he can lend, — they borrow not Glory from those who made the world their
prey ; And he is gathered to the kings of thought
Who waged contention with their time's decay, And of the past are all that cannot pass away.
Go thou to Rome, - at once the Paradise,
Where, like an infant's smile, over the dead A light of laughing flowers along the grass is
And gray walls moulder round, on which dull
Time Feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand; And one keen pyramid with wedge sublime, Pavilioning the dust of him who planned This refuge for his memory, doth stand Like flame transformed to marble; and beneath,
A field is spread, on which a newer band
death, Welcoming him we lose with scarce extinguished
Here pause: these graves are all too young as yet
Seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb.
The One remains, the many change and pass; Heaven's light forever shines, Earth's shadows
fly; Life, like a dome of many-colored glass, Stains the white radiance of Eternity, Until Death tramples it to fragments. - Die, If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost
seek! Follow where all is fled! — Rome's azure sky,
Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak.
Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my
Heart? Thy hopes are gone before ; from all things here
They have departed; thou shouldst now depart !
near; 'Tis Adonais calls! oh, hasten thither, No more let Life divide what Death can join to
That Light whose smile kindles the Universe,
The fire for which all thirst, now beams on me, Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.
The breath whose might I have invoked in song