Euryalus

by Edith Wharton

　　Leaving Ortygia's moat-bound walls below;

　　By orchards, where the wind-flowers' drifted snow

　　Lay lightly heaped upon the turf's light swell;

　　By gardens, whence upon the wayside fell

　　Jasmine and rose in April's overflow;

　　Till, winding up in Epipolae's wide brow,

　　We reached at last the lonely citadel.

　　There, on the ruined rampart climbing high,

　　We sat and dreamed among the browsing sheep,

　　Until we heard the trumpet's startled cry

　　Waking a clang of arms about the keep,

　　And seaward saw, with rapt foreboding eye,

　　The sails of Athens whiten on the deep.