Classic Poem

Not far from Ætna the Sicilian sun
Shines on a broken fane whose work is done:
The columns linger, but the hymn is ended;
The smoke of sacrifice, that once ascended,
Staining the sapphire with an earthlier blue,
Is vanished with the crowd, from morning's view:
Music and garlands greet no more the day;
Their gods are gone, and ours alone hath sway.

Such is Time's way with temples: look at thine!
Those changing hairs, the daily-deepening line!
Mark the slow signs; then in these things of stone
Read Agrigentum's history—and thine own.