Page:Studies in Song - Swinburne (1880).djvu/217

 Here is all the end of all his glory— Dust, and grass, and barren silent stones. Dead, like him, one hollow tower and hoary Naked in the sea-wind stands and moans, Filled and thrilled with its perpetual story: Here, where earth is dense with dead men's bones.

Low and loud and long, a voice for ever, Sounds the wind's clear story like a song. Tomb from tomb the waves devouring sever, Dust from dust as years relapse along; Graves where men made sure to rest, and never Lie dismantled by the seasons' wrong.