The solid-seeming arch and stone,
The noise of war, the pomp imperial,
The heights and depths about a throne—
He missed, among the shapes diurnal,
The old, deep-travelled road from pain,
The thoughts of men which are eternal,
In which, eternal, men remain.
Ritratto d’ignoto; defying
Things unsubstantial as a dream—
An Empire, long in ashes lying—