Classic Poem

Once in the breezy coppice didst thou dance,
And nightingales amid thy foliage sang;
Form'd by man's cruel art into a lance,
Oft hast thou pierced, (the while the welkin rang
With trump and drum, shoutings and battle clang,)
Some foeman's heart. Pride, pomp, and circumstance,
Have left thee, now, and thou dost silent hang,
From age to age, in deep and dusty trance.

What is thy change to ours? These gazing eyes,
To earth reverting, may again arise
In dust, to settle on the self-same space;
Dust, which some offspring, yet unborn, who tries
To poise thy weight, may with his hand efface,
With his moulder'd eyes again replace.