Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim west,
Where the good and the bad, and the worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest.
There shrines and palaces and towers
Time-eaten towers that tremble not
Resemble nothing that is ours.
Around, by lifting winds forgot,
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
Along that wilderness of glass,
No swellings tell that winds may be
Upon some far-off happier sea.
No heavings hint that winds have been,
On seas less hideously serene…