XLVII.

And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind, Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd, All tenantless, save to the crannying Wind, Or holding dark communion with the Cloud There was a day when they were young and proud; Banners on high, and battles[300] passed below; But they who fought are in a bloody shroud, And those which waved are shredless dust ere now,[ii] And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow.