A Corinthian Mirror

Herein, as in some old palimpsest-book,
The lines I read are not the lines I seek,
Faintly, beneath mine own too world-worn look,
Methinks yet smile the lips of some fair Greek —

Some clear-eyed young Corinthian of that seed
We term " the Ancients, " and of whom spake he
Who wrote, That joyous folk was young, indeed:
The Ancients of this wrinkled world — are we!
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