The fane I build on this foundation stone
Which seems to me the most immortal part
Of carnal nature, man's mysterious heart,
May pierce to heaven, and glitter there alone.
For what remains or follows hence the groan
Of power o'ertaken with its dying smart,
Or what to Cheops is his Titan art?
Or where has Helen's fatal beauty flown?
Shall love expire before the source of love,
Just as it flutters from degrading earth,
And fills its yearnings from the fount above?
Or shall it claim, from its celestial birth,
A grander heritage, and calmly move
To royal rights, coequal with its worth?