Lycabettus

Lycabett at every steep street's ending Is there Surprising the eyes, and ascending Aloof, pointed bare Into the bluest blue That ever the live light Poured pulsing through. O spiring, tawny--caverned, crested white, Pine--skirted Lycabett! Lifting above spread roofs this craggy height, What have you to do With the sprawled city's modern swarm and hum, You that have seen the ages go and come From the first sun--rise to the last sun--set? When Athens wore her wondrous bloom, Her dateless violet, You had no ornament nor dress; And who had eyes for you?-- Wild earth, rude rock, What history? Only solitariness.