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Poem	Thus, the souls of dismal feudal lineage, Perpetuating their pride in illustrious sepulchres, Stretch out their long, marble sleep upon the flagstones, Weighted with dead centuries and funereal pasts, The heraldic and grandiose white cadavers, With righteous hands joined in ardent rigidity, Pallid with faith, that rise from their bosoms With sacerdotal gestures of prayer in eternity. Beneath a heavy mourning of shadows in the tumulous crypts, Within the illustrious vision of their solemn brows, slumbers The barbarous spendour of secular reigns. And their bodies, where the original blood has congealed, Sealed within the marbles, austerely patrician, Are the petrified Phantoms of ancient times
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