There are things we know

Things that are not shadowed

Memories seen before they’d grown

Such familiars as Notre Dame and the causeway where giants tred

Yet glad are they that have seen more

Them that have scorned nepenthe and her balm

Have brought the back into the fore

For there were many towers

Oh to gaze upon these stones, this mud, this litter

To wind back a billion hours

Set black lamps aglitter

Such light as would restore old Odotheus

Sublime in wisdom are her spires

Triumphant curling colonnades

Wreathed in heather and in briars

Sacred sycamores there stand

On ground again to be discovered

By sons whose sturdy hand

Though blind is never overpowered

For Athena is the daughter of their mother

Whose voice is sweet with wisdom

Guiding captains who dream of the sacred truth called other

That lies beyond the Kingdom

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