Shrunk, expelled, made nothing at his nod,
Less than clouds across the sea-line sailing
Lies he, stricken by his master’s rod.
“Where is man?” the cloister murmurs wailing;
Back the mute shrine thunders—“Where is God?”
Here is all the end of all his glory—
Dust, and grass, and barren silent stones.
Dead, like him, one hollow tower and hoary
Naked in the sea-wind stands and moans,
Filled and thrilled with its perpetual story;