7.12.2014

The Orator Calls Upon the Last

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
O Europa; in a final hour we see
The truth of what was, in truth
Of we who wore beauty in youth
Every diadem and grand trophy
Was ours, was it not ours, friends?
Tell me then why this story ends;
All things die that mortal are
Even death; but do ideas perish?
Is their immortal conceit but garish
And rude - what of that star
That rules our day, will it not fade
Is its destiny not to be unmade?
All things then, live on by dying
Ah, but such a thing as we were
And knew it not, of this I am sure
Whose were we, tell me without lying
To whom did we yet belong --
We who were weak, and yet strong?
Yes! We were someone else's conceit
And they but our fascination
We who looked out on ev'ry nation
Made the sea bow under our fleet
Which no man had seen before --!
And wanted to know ev'ry shore?
The pallor of death awaiting reflection
We look so bright, young Hamlet
As day is bright and still yet
In considering our new direction
We looked back, we looked back in
But did we look beneath the skin?
We wonder if we shall sleep or dream;
Having forgot that we were here to do
Deeds that no man had seen or knew
Until they were done, until... does it seem
Strange that I remind you, O great city?!
O Europa! In a final hour we see!

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