A vision bright that all our thoughts embue;
Which from the Book of Days may never slip
But in the golden haze of memory dip,
And its fresh youth continually renew.
It was my fortune late to tread upon
The marble stairs of Athens’ sacred steep,
To see its columned gate in moonlight sleep
Beneath the shadow of the Parthenon,
Fair still in ruin, though well Time might weep
For Pallas fallen and her glory gone.