Shrine of the mighty! can it be That this is all remains of thee? - Lord Byron

Not in those climes where I have late been straying, Though Beauty long hath there been matchless deemed, Not in those visions to the heart displaying Forms which it sighs but to have only dreamed, Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seemed: Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek To paint those charms which varied as they beamed — To such as see thee not my words were weak; To those who gaze on thee, what language could they speak?

Time! On whose arbitrary wing
The varying hours must flag or fly,
Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring,
But drag or drive us on to die

I awoke one morning and found myself famous.