But we who’d mete thy steps upon the heights,
And thy soul-message ask
Know well the battles that thy day’s work brought.
No Greek Atlantis are thou, Plato’s thought
Made sudden real;
No fair Utopia thou of mounts ideal,
Eased of thy burden and thy task
With long surmountings in the darkness fraught.
Swift thy foundations grew, but nights of tears
And days of dark foreboding marked thy years.