Each other's passing dying far away.
As each steel prow grazes the island strands
Still ring the sweet Venetian voices clear,
And wondering wanderers from far, free lands
Entranced look round, enchanted listen here.
From the far lands of liberty they come—
England's proud children and her younger race;
Those who possess the Past's most noble home,
And those who claim the Future's boundless space.
Pitying they stand. For thee who would not weep?