Of turning to some profitable end
Thy size, thine age, thy grandeur, gloom, and glory!
II.
Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld!
Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night!
Where are ye now? POE said he felt your strength,
But POE was but a poet. Better far
Be turned to "bizness" in a dime Museum,
Or trotted out, for cents, at the World's Fair
Than rot away beneath Rome's ruddy stars!