In marble halls where whispers softly tread,
The echoes of a time in grandeur spent.
Each pillar stands in silent, ancient stead,
A testament to ages, now content.

The lyre’s chord, a gentle, sweet refrain,
Resounds through corridors of gilded past.
A symphony of memories remain,
In every note, a legacy held fast.

Beneath the arch of timeless, crafted stone,
The stories of a thousand years unfold.
In every sculpture, every chiseled bone,
The heart of ancient tales is gently told.

So let us walk through history’s embrace,
And feel the pulse of ages long and vast.
In classical era’s hallowed space,
We touch the hands of those from ages past.