And so sepúlchred in such pomp dost lie,
That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.

Rhetoric . . . To which poetry would be made subsequent, or indeed rather precedent, as being less subtle and fine, but more simple, sensuous and passionate.

Our state cannot be severed, we are one,
One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself.

Our torments also may in length of time
Become our Elements.

Where the bright seraphim in burning row
Their loud uplifted angel trumpets blow.

For pomp is a tenacious force. And a wily one too.
How humbly it bows its head as the emperor is dragged down the steps and tossed in the street. But then, having quietly bided its time, while helping the newly appointed leader on with his jacket, it compliments his appearance and suggests the wearing of a medal or two. Or, having served him at the formal dinner, it wonders aloud if a taller chair might not have been more fitting for a man with such responsibilities.