“On Seeing the Elgin Marbles” – John Keats

My spirit is too weak–mortality
      Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep,
      And each imagined pinnacle and steep
Of godlike hardship tells me I must die
Like a sick eagle looking at the sky.
      Yet ’tis a gentle luxury to weep
      That I have not the cloudy winds to keep
Fresh for the opening of the morning’s eye.
Such dim-conceived glories of the brain
      Bring round the heart an undescribable feud;

So do these wonders a most dizzy pain,
      That mingles Grecian grandeur with the rude
Wasting of old time–with a billowy main–
      A sun–a shadow of a magnitude.