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walked through the midst of the crowd A mark for each scornful eye, But lifted his gaze to a golden cloud At anchorage in the sky, And smiled, as he murmured, half-aloud: 'I shall live when all these die.

'That fair dame's beauty shall fade— Food for worms to batten upon; Yon warrior's laurels within the shade Grow withered, sere, and brown; The price of that prelate's pride be paid With an effigy in stone.'

The golden cloud sailed into the West, Where the sun in blood sank down;