The weedy old spires like veins in marble
The old gold domes were just ancestral homes
The citadels of yore with broken bronze bells
and tottering towers
Shadowy staircases
Spiraling like ammonites
The sartorial shabbiness of Dunsany
denies him a place at the occult coronation
Tho' gold always rises
Strata of wonders quickly pall
The gleam of dreams is brighter than the glister of
fossilised pageants
Dream city
(Drinking Song From "The Tomb")