1902

They said that it had feet of clay,
That its fall was sure and quick.
In the flames of yesterday
All the clay was burned to brick.

When they carved our epitaph
And marked us doomed beyond recall,
"We are," we answered, with a laugh,
"The Empire that declines to fall."

(C) Arthur Conan Doyle
07/01/2019


Best Poems of Arthur Conan Doyle

• The End
• The Inner Room
• The Frontier Line
• A Ballad Of The Ranks
• With The Chiddingfolds
• The Old Gray Fox
• The Old Huntsman
• The Empire
• Master
• Night Voices
• Darkness
• The Wanderer
• The Farnshire Cup
• Mind And Matter
• The Passing
• A Lilt Of The Road
• Empire Builders