The Dome Of Thought, The Palace Of

Once More Upon The Waters! Yet Once More! And The Waves Bound Beneath Me As A Steed That Knows His Rider.

Who Tracks The Steps Of Glory To The Grave?

Like Other Parties Of The Kind, It Was First Silent, Then Talky, Then Argumentative, Then Disputatious, Then Unintelligible, Then Altogether, Then Inarticulate, And Then Drunk. When We Had Reached The Last Step Of This Glorious Ladder, It Was Difficult To Get Down Again Without Stumbling.

The Niobe Of Nations! There She Stands.

Italia! O Italia! Thou Who Hast The Fatal Gift Of Beauty.