There is a hill where time's devouring teeth
Feed on the ruins of an ancient tower;
A little city lifts its head beneath,
And a small house which linden-trees embower.
Upon its heaven-regarding roof, the sun
Pours forth the very brightest of his rays:
It is the temple of a mighty one,
Whom fame hath visited with loud-voic'd praise.
For many a year, had fearful signs of weeping,
And frightful sounds of woe, that dwelling fill'd;
Now 'tis beneath the wings of silence sleeping:
Love hath the dreams, the wounds, the sorrows still'd
Which broke the rest of fame, and driven away
The bear, the lion, and the beasts of prey.
Feed on the ruins of an ancient tower;
A little city lifts its head beneath,
And a small house which linden-trees embower.
Upon its heaven-regarding roof, the sun
Pours forth the very brightest of his rays:
It is the temple of a mighty one,
Whom fame hath visited with loud-voic'd praise.
For many a year, had fearful signs of weeping,
And frightful sounds of woe, that dwelling fill'd;
Now 'tis beneath the wings of silence sleeping:
Love hath the dreams, the wounds, the sorrows still'd
Which broke the rest of fame, and driven away
The bear, the lion, and the beasts of prey.
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