Fierce wrath of Solomon
Where sleepest thou? O see
The fabric which thou won
Earth and ocean to give thee —
O look at the red skies.

Or hath the sun plunged down?
What is this molten gold —
These thundering fires blown
Through heaven — where the smoke rolled?
Again the great king dies.

His dreams go out in smoke,
His days he let not pass
And sculptured here are broke
Are charred as the burnt grass
Gone as his mouth's last sighs.