The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung
where grew the arts of war and peace
where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet
but all, except their sun, is set...
The mountains look on Marathon
and Marathon looks on the sea;
and musing there an hour alone
I dreamed that Greece might still be free;
for standing on the Persians' grave
I could not deem myself a slave.
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