108
I am not mad, although I see
Things of no better mould
Than I myself am, greedily
In Fame's bright page enrolled,
That they may tell
The story well,
What shines may not be gold.
No, no! content I court my doom,
The darkness of a Nameless Tomb.
The luck is theirs—the loss is mine,
And yet no loss at all;
The mighty ones of eldest time,
I ask where they did fall?
Tell me the one
Who e'er could shun
Touch with Oblivion's pall?
All bear with me an equal doom,
The darkness of a Nameless Tomb.
Brave temple and huge pyramid,
Hill sepulchred by art,
The barrow acre-vast, where hid
Moulders some Nimrod's heart;
