Young was I wont —
now four-score years—
to fashion words
in Odin’s tongue;
in Odin’s tongue;
Close friend of dreams, Ulysses,
Returned to his fog-bound destiny,
A homecoming from foreign countries,
Back to his own. A salty memory.
Neighbours that faced across the narrowing seas,
Lay Sestos and Abydos, and on these
Love bent his bow; a single arrow flamed.
Babylon has fallen! Aye; but Babylon endures
Wherever human wisdom shines or human folly lures;
Where lovers lingering walk beside, and happy children play,
Is Babylon! Babylon! for ever and for aye.