When life contracts into a vulgar span And human nature tires to be a man, I thank the gods for Greece That permanent realm of peace, For as the rising moon far in the night Checquers the shade with her forerunning light, So in my darkest hour my senses seem To catch from her Acropolis a gleam, Greece who am I that should remember thee? Thy Marathon and thy Thermopylae Is my life vulgar my fate mean Which on such golden memories can lean? |