The hill-top shone
In the last rays. Athens was growing dark.
Tyrtamus answered him. “A colder cup
Of hemlock, and the fate of Socrates.”
The Master looked at Athens. Far away
He traced the glimmering aisle of olive-trees
Where, for so long, with many a youthful friend
He had walked, and taught, and striven himself to learn.
Southward, below the Acropolis, he could see
The shadowy precincts of the Asclepiads,