Crete

The green waves wash above us Who slumber in the bay As washed the tide of ages That swept our race away.

Our cities—dusty ruins; Our galleys—deep-sea slime; Our very ghosts, forgotten, Bow to the sweep of Time.

Our land lies stark before it As we to alien spears, But, ah, the love we bore it Outlasts the crawling years.

Ah, jeweled spires at even— The lute’s soft golden sigh— The Lion-Gates of Knossos When dawn was in the sky.