Valley of the Kings

Nicholas Michell

But other tombs are near: where rocks look down
From Libya's waste, Death's sombre dwellings frown.
For many an age queens, princes here were laid,
Along these hills what pomp hath Thebes displayed,
As melting on Time's sea like bubbling foam,
King after king was borne to Death's dark home.
What thousands here have bent in hopeless woe,
Wept on these sands, or wailed to breezes low!
The wife has mourned her lord, the youth his bride —
What boots it now? — they moulder side by side.