OF HELLAS DEAD
MID wrecks of Hellas dead in marble state,
Whose relics whiten still Ægean’s shore,
Gold treasuries of kings, Art’s precious ore,
Cast up by Time’s slow waves to us so late:
It reached me then these things to meditate—
How fell such pillared state, how lost its lore?
What palsy touched the hand, what ate the core
Of ancient life—why Hellas met such fate?