XVI.

 The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
 Turns Ashes--or it prospers; and anon,
   Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face,
 Lighting a little hour or two--is gone.


XVII.

 Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
 Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day,
   How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
 Abode his destined Hour, and went his way.


XVIII.

 They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
 The courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:
   And Bahram, that great Hunter--the Wild Ass
 Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.


XIX.

 I sometimes think that never blows so red
 The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
   That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
 Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.


XX.

 And this reviving Herb whose tender Green
 Fledges the River-Lip on which we lean--
   Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
 From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!