Of mouthed graves will give thee memory
A fraction of a fraction of thy days:
Yet if thou wilst endure eternity,
Mayhap thou'lt find Apollo in his blaze.
Speak, Mortal, thou who knowest the divine:
Wert thou above the vengeance of the god,
A brighter fate might evermore be thine;
Speak of the shaded shores that thou hast trod.
Speak, from those shores, of monarchs yet to rise,
Of ships that have not sailed the stormy sea:
A thousand generations ope their eyes
And find a past and future all in thee.
The hours that pass uncounted as they go
Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know.
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