Look on that picture, and on this...
Behold!
The Face that frown'd the heights of realms away;
The Imperial forehead, filleted with gold;
The masterful chin, the lips of frozen clay,
This is the later Caesar, whose great day
Was one long sunset in blood-ruby roll'd,
Till, on an ocean-island lone and gray,
It sank, scorned, feared, and betray'd.
Yea, this is he who swept from plain to plain,
Watering the harvest-fields with crimson rain;
This is the Eagle who on foes fed.
Turn to the wall thy Reproach.
Wherefore thou, criminal agaze,
Blink thy truth leering, so dim?

Rather a heart as strong as the great heart
Driving a hot life thro' a lion's thews;
Rather a Will that struggles anew
With that immortal ichor of our Race
Which unpolluted fill'd to the brim!
Which lash'd the world's Kings to its triumph-car
And sat like marble while the fiery wheels
Dript blood beneath it: tho' the foemen shriek'd—
Warm as Life heroic in tilt-yard;
As bright as stars do shine,
In the glitt'ring sea void—
In the white after-dawn,—from west to east
Royal it moves as the red wintry sun.