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 | The Works of Thomas Love Peacock |  |
LAW OF NECESSITY
In solitary pride,By Dirce's murmuring side,
The giant oak has stretched its ample shade,
And waved its tresses of imperial might;
Now low in dust its blackened boughs are laid,
Its dark root withers in the depth of night.
Nor hoarded gold, nor pomp of martial power
Can check necessity's supreme control,
That cleaves unerringly the rock-built tower,
And whelms the flying bark where shoreless oceans roll.
| The Works of Thomas Love Peacock | |