This was the golden temple, where men came

In sorrows, and in gladness, and in fears.

Here were the ancient days of festival

For lesser gods, and cries and dawning years,

These were the olden pillars, round and white

That made bright outline and a long cool shade,

Beneath whose capitals the merchants came,

And students passed, and little children played.

Here were the great works of mighty painters,

Long since dead. There the dim majestic form

Of one great goddess stood within the walls,

promising refuge from the loud world's storm.

These were the great works of mighty painters,

Long since dead. There the dim majestic form

Of one great goddess stood within the walls,

Promising refuge from the loud world's storm.

These were the marble walls that were to last

Forever. Beauty remains, as Beauty must,

Even though shattered columns stand alone,

And all the children, gods, and priests are dust.