And thou dost pave the road with sanity,
And all the train of bitter ghosts adore them,
Who died to puff a monarch's vanity.
I hear thy orchestras of holy cheers,
The drum that life has snatched away from death,
And all the sighing rhythm of thy tears,
And the brave laughter of thy trumpet-breath.
Peace! But a cynic whispered in my ear
How kings like worms still wrangled for a crown
That lay amid the dust—and I could hear