II

Could Arethuse to her forsaken urn

From Alpheus and the bitter Doris run,

      Or could the morning shafts of purest light

Again into the quivers of the Sun

      Be gathered—could one thought from its wild flight

Return into the temple of the brain

Without a change, without a stain,—

Could aught that is, ever again

Be what it once has ceased to be,

Greece might again be free!