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SON OF THE LIGHTNING, FAIR AND FIERY STAR,
STRONG-WINGED IMPERIAL PINDAR, VOICE DIVINE,
LET THESE DEEP DRAUGHTS OF THY ENCHANTED WINE
LIFT ME WITH THEE IN SOARINGS HIGH AND FAR
PROUDER THAN PEGASEÄN, OR THE CAR
WHEREIN APOLLO RAPT THE HUNTRESS MAID.
SO LET ME RANGE MINE HOUR, TOO SOON TO FADE
INTO DULL PRESENCE OF THE THINGS THAT ARE.
YET KNOW THAT EVEN AMID THIS JARRING NOISE
OF HATES, LOVES, CREEDS, TOGETHER HEAPED AND HURLED,
SOME ECHO FAINT OF GRACE AND GRANDEUR STIRS
FROM THY SWEET HELLAS, HOME OF NOBLE JOYS.
FIRST FRUIT AND BEST OF ALL OUR WESTERN WORLD;
WHATE'ER WE HOLD OF BEAUTY, HALF IS HERS.
