Henry Alford - Homer lyrics

Ilion, along whose streets in olden days Shone that divinest form, for whose sweet face A monarch sire, with all his kingly race, Were too content to let their temples blaze— Where art thou now?—no ma**ive columns raise Their serried shafts to heaven; we may not trace Xanthus and Simois, nor each storied place Round which poetic memory fondly plays. But in the verse of the old man divine Thy windy towers are built eternally; Nor shall the ages, as they ruin by, Print on thy bulwarks one decaying sign; So true is beauty clothed in endless rhyme, So false the sensual monuments of time.