But, under all, my heart believes the day br Was not diviner over Athens, nor br The West wind sweeter thro' the Cyclades br Than here and now; and from the altar of To-day br The eloquent, quick tongues of flame uprise br As fervid, if not unfaltering as of old, br And life atones with speed and plenitude br For coarser texture. Our poor present will, br Far in the brooding future, make a past br Full of the morning's music still, and starred br With great tears shining on the eyelids' eaves br Of our immortal faces yearning t'wards the sun.