When banners caught the breeze,
When helms in sunlight shone,
When masts were on the seas,
And spears on Marathon.
ANCIENT GREEK SONG OF EXILE.
Where is the summer with her golden sun?—
That festal glory hath not pass’d from earth:
For me alone the laughing day is done!
Where is the summer with her voice of mirth?
—Far in my own bright land?