Builds monuments, to which decay
Clings as a resting-place and prey,
Nor thinks how weak are all his pains,
When nothing at the last remains.
And age, that ought to know the best,
Is but a dreamer like the rest;
O'erlooking, in its downward pace,
The landmarks of its upward race;
No wisdom from the past it earns,
And from the present only learns