From far Corinthian climes the golden sun
Streams softly o'er the bay of Phaleron;
While wandering clouds caress the purple seas,
Melodiously moved within the rhythmic breeze
That floats in dulcet and diluted strains
Across the misty, springtime-scented plains,
To where upon the height o'er Athens stands
The delicate splendor of celestial lands
The Parthenon in all its majesty,
Gazing upon the world immutably.
The Erectheum with no grandeur gone,
Has seen long centuries pass in Pagan dawn.
Here Phidias' magic hands have left the trace
That neither Death nor Kingdoms could erase;
Here stood Athena in her chasteness fair;
Here shone the noble deeds of heroes rare;
Here glory, power, zeal, and courage met
Under Athenian skies of violet.

Ah strange, the hand of Time dispels such charms,
Lays Glory low, wipes out the race, disarms
A world-wide pow'r. To-day there but remains
The ghost-like semblance of the past domains.
Tho' still the same Ægean winds blow free …
Kymodoke yet lingers by the sea
In Nereus' shade; and tho' the years go by
The Grecian splendors dim but do not die.