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Here's a hail, O brown cicada, tuning
In the golden heat,
O'er the thrush's plaint, the cuckoo's crooning,
Strident and yet sweet!


You bring back the faded dream-creations
Of the days antique;
You inspire the glorious elations
Of the perished Greek!


Not so much the Spartan thought of duty
Held so close to heart,
As the love and worship of pure beauty
Both in song and art!


Strange an insect's shrill half-rhythmic dower
Works such wondrous ends,
Yet association's magic power
Time and space transcends!


Phidian line of frieze; the Sophoclean
Tragic lift and fall;
Pipes Pandean by the old Ægean,--
You revive them all!