Classic Poem

No longer now need foreign Memphis prate
Of her high pyramids and regal state.
How small a part of thy Palatial Hall,
Doth Egypt make, earth's fairest sight of all.
You'ld fancy there the seven hills to espy
And Pelion on Ossa's not so high.
It pierces heaven, rising through the cloud,
And 'mid the stars its bright peaks thunder loud,
And take their fill of Phoebus' hidden light
Ere e'en Circeii has the sun in sight.
Yet though with heaven it may equal be.
It is not great enough, dear Sire, for thee.