All things must fade. There is for cities tall <br />The same tomorrow as for daffodils: <br />Time's wind, that casts the seed, the petal spills. <br />Grim London's ruined arches yet shall fall <br />Back to the arms of Earth. A quiet pall <br />The mother draws over those she loves--and kills; <br />And though brief nations vaunt their upstart wills, <br />The nemesis of grass shall cover all. <br />So--from a caravan to Mecca bound <br />Getting no more than one incurious glance-- <br />Tremendous Babylon, thrice-girt with walls, <br />Sick of her thousand years of arrogance, <br />With a few tamarisks upon a mound <br />Her epigraph upon the desert scrawls.<br /><br />Arthur Henry Adams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/nemesis-2/
