Classic Poem

The warm sun slants upon a myrtled plain;
Brown linnets watch the blue Ilissus flow;
Benignant gods their choicest gifts bestow;
Calm and serene the shifting twilights wane.

The woods are still that heard war's pomp and pain;
The silent beaches hide no ships of woe;
And Thracian javelins no longer glow
Across the flowery hills like steely rain.

Dead and unvestaled is the temple's fire,
Flown are the valiant hosts of nobler kind,
And flown the dream of beauty and of peace;
No hope, nor hope of hope, no new desire,
Naught but the drowsy murmur of the wind
Through voiceless glens, and yet this once was Greece!