The soaring pillar and the epic boast,
The flaring pageant and the storied pile
May parley with Oblivion awhile,
To save some Sargon of the fading host;
But these are vain to hold
Against the slow creep of the patient mold,
The noiseless drill of the erasing rust:
The pomp, the arch, the scroll cannot beguile
The ever-circling Destinies that must
Mix king and clown into one rabble dust.