Classic Poem

It rests within its crystal royally,
With ceremonious bareness set apart;
Subservient ribbons mark its sovereignty;
A seal is sign of its authentic heart.
No fingers dare to turn its pages o'er;
No modern reader comes to study there;
Its object now is to be read no more, —
Its mission sole is but to last fore'er.

In all the coro not a single thing
Displays such haughty air or blazoning
As does the boast of its antiquity;
Antiquity that ne'er can be destroyed,
Which, while it treasures ages, is employed
To assert abroad its own supremacy.