All things must fade. There is for cities tall
The same tomorrow as for daffodils:
Time's wind, that casts the seed, the petal spills.
Grim London's ruined arches yet shall fall
Back to the arms of Earth. A quiet pall
The mother draws over those she loves—and kills;
And though brief nations vaunt their upstart wills,
The nemesis of grass shall cover all.
So—from a caravan to Mecca bound
Getting no more than one incurious glance—
Tremendous Babylon, thrice-girt with walls,
Sick of her thousand years of arrogance,
With a few tamarisks upon a mound
Her epigraph upon the desert scrawls.
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Comments
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depreciation and decrepitude - be it the towering madness of a precocious artist or the indefinite wisdom of a sweeping culture - must all find it way back to rocks and earth - that's what Adams, very obviously, is trying to tell.
beautiful and short and simple. -
Again an unfamiliar poet, but with excellent linguistic skills. The beauty of this poetry, more than its meaning is its flow, language, and wonderful imagery.
A very good piece, with an appropriate title.
Ankita
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