She lies, a grave disdain all her defence, Too imperturbable for scorn. She hears Only the murmur of the flowing years That thunder slowly on her shores immense And ebb away in moaning impotence. Giants enduring, she and Time are peers-- Her dream-hazed eyes knowing no hopes, no tears, Her glance a langour-lidded insolence. And though the rabble of the restless West In her deserted courts set their rash sway, She heeds them not; as when the sun, withdrawn From his untarnished sky, knows it distressed By storm of weakling stars, that he at dawn Will wither with one ruthless glance away.