"O soft embalmer of the crescent,
The light wrothfully they trieth to push
Hush'd with a gasp of life's breath,
In which your light hidden is
Far too long were we lock'd in darkness wed
When Apollo opens his doors,
What would be 'fore my eyes
But if not the brightest light..."
| "Θεοί μεν γαρ μελλόντων, άνθρωποι δε γιγνομένων | ||
| σοφοί δε προσιόντων αισθάνονται" | ||
| ΟΥΚ ΕΛΛΗΝΙΚΟΝ ΤΟ ΠΡΟΣΚΥΝΕΙΝ |