GREECE, 1915-16

Yea, taunt me, World Voice—I am dumb and blind, My body broken, and my heart unclad. Yet am I silent, while strange forces wind The chains about me. Helpless, scorned, maligned, I answer not. The Greece of long ago Speaks for me in this newest time of woe. Europe reviles me. Yea, I stand alone Like woman left before the ruined door, Like woman who, beneath her outraged moan, Remembers sacred hours. Like a stone I am cold, passionless, mid the wild uproar, Murmuring “Peace” and “Hellas” o’er and o’er. Apollo’s beauty sprang from out my womb; Socrates called me, mother. Every hill And templed glade, and solemn-urnèd tomb, Bids me refrain; no longer to resume War and rapine, no longer blood to spill, Nor hate engender, nor intent to kill. Europe! Greece speaks, Greece, who so deeply drank The bitter cup of ravage; who has laid A new foundation: near her altars, blank Of by-gone fires, she phalanxes the rank Of golden grain. And bids the new-born Greek Old classic words with modern tongue to speak. Homer withholds me, Æschylus restrains, “Human Euripides” exhorts me—“Stay!” I was despoilèd once; strike off my chains, Unsay the insult! Greece nor plots nor feigns, Only withholds her, agonized, at bay, But loyal to her hallowed cliffs and plains!