From Marathon

Just these two words beneath a little spray
Still freshly green, and tipped with brilliant red;
What wonder should they snatch my faith away?
Such noble birth! can it be credited?
Ay! this has sprung from Glory's very heart,
Who gave it to me plucked it from the mound;
I see and press what somehow had its part
With those who made the spot immortal ground.
No stony relic; daily breath it drew
In airs that blew two thousand years ago;
Over the deathless hundred-ninety-two,
The green of victory budded into glow.
'T is a rich life-drop that I look upon,
The ruddy fruit of blood sown Marathon.