Roman, Roman, what do you here?
Your great Wall is fallen this many a year—
Fallen, fallen, the Roman Wall;
And green grow the bent and the moss over all.
The wind and the rain have tumbled down
What the foemen left of tower and town.
Well and truly you builded your Wall,
But the wind and the rain are masters of all:
Bravely you builded: but all in vain
Man builds against the wind and the rain;
The raking wind and the seeping rain,
Man builds in vain, for the wind and the wet,
The water that saps and the airs that fret,
His pride of towers will overset.
Man builds; but all must fall as the Wall
You builded, O Roman, to breast the squall:
The wide-flung ramparts and the cities tall
Must fall as the Wall-yea, all must fall,
And tempest ride over the ruins of all:
For the wind and the rain are masters of all.