  Shades, that our town-fellows have come To hear rewake for Christendom This cleansing of a Pagan wrong In flowing tides of tragic song,— You shadows that the living call To walk again the Trojan wall,— You lips and countenance renewed Of an immortal fortitude,— Know that, among the silent rows Of these our daily town-fellows, Watching the shades with these who bring But mortal ears to this you sing, There somewhere sits the Greek who made This gift of song, himself a shade. |
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