Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles
    Miles and miles
On the solitary pastures where our sheep
    Half-asleep
Tinkle homeward thro’ the twilight, stray or stop
    As they crop—­
Was the site once of a city great and gay,
    (So they say)
Of our country’s very capital, its prince
    Ages since 10
Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far
    Peace or war.

Now,—­the country does not even boast a tree,
    As you see,
To distinguish slopes of verdure, certain rills
   From the hills
Intersect and give a name to (else they run
    Into one),
Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires
    Up like fires 20
O’er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall
    Bounding all,
Made of marble, men might march on nor be pressed,
    Twelve abreast.

And such plenty and perfection, see, of grass
    Never was! 
Such a carpet as, this summer-time, o’erspreads
    And embeds
Every vestige of the city, guessed alone,
    Stock or stone—­ 30
Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe
    Long ago;
Lust of glory pricked their hearts up, dread of shame
    Struck them tame;
And that glory and that shame alike, the gold
    Bought and sold.

Now,—­the single little turret that remains
    On the plains,
By the caper overrooted, by the gourd
    Overscored, 40
While the patching houseleek’s head of blossom winks
    Thro’ the chinks—­
Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time
    Sprang sublime,
And a burning ring, all round, the chariots traced
    As they raced,
And the monarch and his minions and his dames
    Viewed the games.

And I know—­while thus the quiet-coloured eve
    Smiles to leave 50
To their folding, all our many-tinkling fleece
    In such peace,
And the slopes and rills in undistinguished gray
    Melt away—­
That a girl with eager eyes and yellow hair
    Waits me there
In the turret whence the charioteers caught soul
    For the goal,
When the king looked, where she looks now, breathless, dumb
    Till I come, 60

But he looked upon the city, every side,
    Far and wide,
All the mountains topped with temples, all the glades’
    Colonnades,
All the causeys, bridges, aqueducts,—­and then,
    All the men! 
When I do come, she will speak not, she will stand,
    Either hand
On my shoulder, give her eyes the first embrace
    Of my face, 70
Ere we rush, ere we extinguish sight and speech
    Each on each.