Yet not a city but a flood of ruin
Is there, that from the boundaries of the sky
Rolls its perpetual stream; vast pines are strewing....’”
“Oh, what a rhyme—ruin and strewin’. Do you suppose Shelley dropped his ‘g’’s?”
“Don’t be irreverent. Listen:—
“‘vast pines are strewing
Its destined path, or in the mangled soil
Branchless and shattered stand; the rocks drawn down
From yon remotest waste, have overthrown
The limits of the dead and living world....’