Though they gleam in the light of the present, yet all
Have a fragrance that breathes of the night, -
But the shadows are bright and still softly they fall,
As the shadows of faery flight.
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III.
O'er our course that is past, as we look from the mount
We have reached on this midsummer day,
May the rivers that flow from the high-nurtured fount,
Cast in halos their silvery spray;
May the waters of Lethe, o'er letters in sand,
Flow the steeps and the deserts between, -
Blessed Eunoe, stream of the lotos-fed land,
Keep the meadows of memory green!