She conquered the kings of far countries,
And when the man had humbled himself before her,
Lo, she would go upon her way,
She would come hither,
She would sigh gleefully under our branches,
Very pleasantly would she lie down on the skins of panthers.
And after the Gardens have sung, there is heard the voice of the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus:
I am the monument of a heart that knew itself infinite;
Death is not death beneath my dome of blue,
Beneath my dome, death is victory,