They came, as earthly conquerors always come,
With blood and splendor, revelry and woe.
The stately horse treads proudly; he hath trod
The brow of death, as well. The chariot wheels
Of warriors roll magnificently on;
Their weight hath crushed the fallen. Man is there;
Majestic, lordly man, with his serene
And elevated brow and godlike frame,
Lifting his crest in triumph, for his heel
Hath trod the dying like a wine-press down!