And then I knelt. It was a glorious fane
All, all my own.
But not that grand Baalbec,
Nor Parthenon, nor Rome’s stupendous pile,
Nor lovelier Milan, nor the Sepulchre
So dark and solemn where the Christ was laid,
Nor even yet that dreadful field of death
At Ghizeh where the eternal Pyramids
Have, from a world of graves, pointed to Heav’n
For fifty ages past,—not all these shrines