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DOST thou believe in God?

When on the mount is kindled morn's sweet light,

Ivy circles thy slenderForm so graceful and godlike.How ye rise on highFrom the ruins,Column-pairAnd thou, their lonely sister yonder,--How thou,Dusky moss upon thy sacred head,--Lookest down in mournful majestyOn thy brethren's figuresLying scatter'dAt thy feet!In the shadow of the brambleEarth and rubbish veil them,Lofty grass is waving o'er themIs it thus thou, Nature, prizestThy great masterpiece's masterpiece?Carelessly destroyest thouThine own sanctuary,Sowing thistles there?