Classic Poem

Yellow the sand on the palace floor,
Heavy the dust on column and wall;
Without, the jackal's sycophant call
Echoes the lion's angry roar.

Trespassers we on a king's domain,
Who chafes outside in his royal rage:
Patience, your Majesty, while a page
Of history we peruse again.

Here was a mighty monarch's throne;
There was the altar men raised to him,
Where the bones of beasts lie white and grim:
How the servile knees have worn the stone!

Here is his statue, but all defaced
His royal features beyond recall;
And prone it lies in the dust and all,
From its lofty pedestal displaced.

Time, sweeping by with his noiseless wings,
Swept off the date and the mighty name.
Only three words remain to fame:
Somebody once was a “king of kings.”