Athens

She sits in glory on her eyrie high, Far seen, the Pharos of antiquity; And, through the dusky-woven veil of time, She vents her sun-bright shafts, that pierce and shine Like lightning, from the golden quivers drawn Of high philosophy and Sophoclean song. Around her feet in lucid currents wind Two streams, through marble-paven channels, lined By temples pillar-propt, whose snowy sheen Glistens like silver through the olive’s green.