Am recent in thy sight as grass of yestermorn!
Yet in this soul of mine
Is strength as great as thine,
O dull-eyed Sphinx that wouldst despise me now;
Is grandeur like thine own,
O melancholy stone,
With forty centuries furrow’d on thy brow;
Deep in my heart I feel
What time shall yet reveal,
That I shall tower o’er men, as o’er these deserts thou.