- GRAY pyramids! proud tombs of Egypt's kings!
- Four thousand summers have now fled away;
- Thrones, empires, cities, mouldering in decay;
- Yet ye, uncrumbling, stand. Oblivion's wings
- Have striven to overshadow you, and still,
- O'er the red sands, like watch-towers of old Time,
- Enduringly ye rise, Death's chroniclers sublime:
- One office only destined to fulfill,
- Man's other mighty works ye shall outlast;
- And caravans of mortals, wise and brave,
- Must pass through death's dark portals to the grave;
- Ere, from your summits, Time shall look his last,
- No more to point to coming destiny –
- Himself and you lost in one vast eternity.
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