THE BURIAL OF SOPHOCLES
Sophocles, the grandson, speaks at the poet's tomb.
Green hills that wave your olives to the sun,
Who but an hour ago did flaming rise
Over the tombs of hidden Marathon
And gave you back your shining jewelleries
What meaning dear can the dull eyes of grief
Trace in your moving groves and wizard streams?—
Have ye a knowledge of our troubled quest,
The lamentation brief,
The grey road and the haunting twilight dreams,
And the lov'd burden laid this morn to rest?
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