Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

   When Paphos fell by Time—­accursed Time! 
   The Queen who conquers all must yield to thee —
   The Pleasures fled, but sought as warm a clime;
   And Venus, constant to her native sea,
   To nought else constant, hither deigned to flee,
   And fixed her shrine within these walls of white;
   Though not to one dome circumscribeth she
   Her worship, but, devoted to her rite,
A thousand altars rise, for ever blazing bright.