Of an ancient glory, strange clouded fragments,
Late lingers, of the divine company.
Where they come , they breathe of that world,
Lost halls of heaven, and Olympian air.
Rich in gold, the lands of Lydia,
The sun struck plains; of Phrygia too.
Of Persia; the great walls of Bactria,
The storm swept country of Medes and Araby.
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