Which still must ever from the human heart
Win homage next devotion. ’Tis in vain
To ask the wherefore, or demand what are they
Amid the keen realities of life?
Old coin, or broken casque, or fretted stone—
The waste of Time—the rack upon life’s shore
Thrown up by the spent waves of centuries—
They have no meaning in the vulgar tongue;
Their very uses know them not—things past
Into the chaos of forgotten forms.