Translated by STRONG.
I ask’d of Time, to whom arose this high
Majestic pile, here mouldering in decay?
He answered not, but swifter sped his way
With ceaseless pinions winnowing the sky.
To Fame I turn’d: “Speak thou, whose sons defy
The waste of years, and deathless works essay.”
She heaved a sigh, as one to grief a prey