Thou gazing face above the shifting sands!
Oh, turn thy tearless eyes and answer me!
Will honour come to thee and to thy land.
That this should be?

Those swarthy adamantine breasts of stone
Are now matured beneath thine Egypt sun.
Wilt profit by this brood of iron bone
That this be done?

Oh answer me, thou silent gazing face,
All-gifted with the wisdom of the years,
These teeth of Jason, - will they bring thee grace,
Or bring thee tears?