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THE BURIAL OF SOPHOCLES
There Heracles with peaceful foot shall press
The springing herbage, and Hephæstus strong,
Hera and Aphrodite's loveliness,
And the great giver of the choric song.
The springing herbage, and Hephæstus strong,
Hera and Aphrodite's loveliness,
And the great giver of the choric song.
And thither, after weary pilgrimage,
From unknown lands beyond the hoary wave,
Shall travellers through every coming age
Approach to pluck a blossom from his grave:
Some in the flush of youth, or in the prime,
Whose life is still as heapèd gold to spend,
And some who have drunk deep of grief and time,
And who yet linger half-afraid the end.
From unknown lands beyond the hoary wave,
Shall travellers through every coming age
Approach to pluck a blossom from his grave:
Some in the flush of youth, or in the prime,
Whose life is still as heapèd gold to spend,
And some who have drunk deep of grief and time,
And who yet linger half-afraid the end.
The Interlude
It was upon a night of spring,
Even the time when first do sing
The new-returnèd nightingales;
Whenas all hills and woods and dales
Are resonant with melody
Of songs that die not, but shall be
Unto the latest hour of time
Beyond the life of word or rime—
Whenas all brooks more softly flow
Remembering lovers long ago
That stood upon their banks and vowed,
And love was with them like a cloud:
There came one out of Athens town
In a spun robe, with sandals brown,
Just when the white ship of the moon
Had first set sail, and many a rune
Was written in the argent stars;
His feet were set towards the hills
Because he knew that there the rills
Ran down like jewels, and fairy cars
Even the time when first do sing
The new-returnèd nightingales;
Whenas all hills and woods and dales
Are resonant with melody
Of songs that die not, but shall be
Unto the latest hour of time
Beyond the life of word or rime—
Whenas all brooks more softly flow
Remembering lovers long ago
That stood upon their banks and vowed,
And love was with them like a cloud:
There came one out of Athens town
In a spun robe, with sandals brown,
Just when the white ship of the moon
Had first set sail, and many a rune
Was written in the argent stars;
His feet were set towards the hills
Because he knew that there the rills
Ran down like jewels, and fairy cars
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