Remove yon scull from out the scattered heaps.
Is that a temple, where a God may dwell?
Why, ev'n the worm at last disdains her shattered cell!
Look on its broken arch, its ruined wall,
Its chambers desolate, and portals foul;
Yes, this was once ambition's airy hall,
The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.
Behold, through each lack-lustre, eyeless hole,
The gay recess of wisdom and of wit,
And passion's host, that never brooked control.
Can all, saint, sage, or sophist ever writ,
People this lonely tower, this tenement refit?