And what to this were kingly chambers worth—
Sleeping, an ant, upon the sheltering earth,
High over Mendocino’s windy capes,
Where ships go flying south like shadow-shapes—
Gleam into vision and go fading on,
Bearing the pines hewn out of Oregon.
The Witness of the Dust
Voices are crying from the dust of Tyre,
From Baalbec and the stones of Babylon—
“We raised our pillars upon Self-Desire,