And the great giver of the choric song.
And thither, after weary pilgrimage,
From unknown lands beyond the hoary wave,
Shall travellers through every coming age
Approach to pluck a blossom from his grave:
Some in the flush of youth, or in the prime,
Whose life is still as heapèd gold to spend,
And some who have drunk deep of grief and time,
And who yet linger half-afraid the end.