And Isis breaks in silver at the prow
Of many a skiff, and by each dewy lawn
Purple and gold the tall flag-lilies stand;
And SHELLEY sleeps above his empty tomb
Hard by the staircase where you had your room,
And all the scented lilacs are in bloom,
But you are far from this our fairy-land.
Your heavy wheel disturbs the ancient dust
Of empires dead ere Oxford saw the light.
Those flies that form a halo round your crust