But one thing certainly mine heart divineth,
That, whatso excellence Lord Fate designeth
For me, Time’s onward-stealing feet will bring
To its ordained perfection that same thing.
Weave on, O winsome Lyre, make speed in weaving
Thy web of song that shall accordant ring
With Lydian harmony, song-vesture cleaving
Lovingly round Oenone and Cyprus, where,
Far from the ancient home constrained to fare,
An island-king Telamonian Teucer is,
While Aias rules ancestral Salamis;