Frederick George Scott




Imperial city, slumbering on thy throne
    Of vanished empire, once thy voice and hands
    Rocked the wide world; thy fingers wove the lands
Into thy girdle. Thou for crown alone
Didst wear the stars. Yet still in undertone
    Man hears thy deathless utterance, though Time’s sands
    Roll centuries; thou clasp’st the earth with bands
Of speech, art, law, and subtle powers unknown.

Thou wast not meant to die; thy mighty heart
    Pulsed with the universe. Thy deeds of old

        Flame like the sunset skies through clouds which throng;
They blazon on thy throne a name apart
    In red of mighty victories, in gold
        Of all things valorous and great and strong. [Page 51]