Columned, wreathed and ribbon-wound,)—
In the forest I have found
But a ruin! All around
Lie the shattered capitals,
And vast fragments of the walls ...
Like a climbing cloud,—that plies,
Wind-wrecked, o'er the moon that lies
'Neath its blackness,—taking on
Gradual certainties of wan,
Soft assaults of easy white,