The Hues Of Bliss More Brightly Glow,

Can Storied Urn, Or Animated Bust Back To Its Mansion Call The Fleeting Breath? Can Honour's Voice Provoke The Silent Dust, Or Flatt'ry Soothe The Dull Cold Ear Of Death?

To Brisk Notes In Cadence Beating, Glance Their Many-twinkling Feet.

Hands That The Rod Of Empire Might Have Sway'd, Or Waked To Ecstasy The Living Lyre.

Ah, Tell Them They Are Men!

Far From The Madding Crowd's Ignoble Strife.