FROM low to high doth dissolution climb,   And sink from high to low, along a scale   Of awful notes, whose concord shall not fail; A musical but melancholy chime, Which they can hear who meddle not with crime,   Nor avarice, nor over-anxious care.   Truth fails not; but her outward forms that bear The longest date do melt like frosty rime, That in the morning whiten'd hill and plain And is no more; drop like the tower sublime   Of yesterday, which royally did wear His crown of weeds, but could not even sustain   Some casual shout that broke the silent air, Or the unimaginable touch of Time.