In ways unknown to mortals, I regret
The memory of that grand and haughty hour,
When the symmetric insolence of my tower
Awed the pale heaven that braves my anger yet.

No stone of mine now crumbling can forget
My palm-clad pomp in those sweet days of power,
When my colossal summit made stars cower
And shrink before my awful silhouette.

Oh! despicable, puny hordes of men!
When I held sky and space within my reach,
What souls had ye thus to be overcome?
Why did your coward hands desert me, when
Jehovah, in His wrath, had blent all speech?
Could ye not work, O fools! though ye were dumb?