And there the Turk, who holds thee with dog's teeth And makes of thee a valley of sad tears, O paradisial land of old Ionia; And here, our Mother Greece, Dream-weaver of unending laurel-wreaths Beside her Cretan helmsman and her king!

You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant: But yet you draw not iron, for all my heart Is true as steel. Leave you your power to draw, And I shall have no power to follow you.

Now is the right time.

Yet nationalism rules OK across most public management.