She sees the splendid sunset.

Why should its extravagance of glory run to waste?
Let me build out of it a new Athens, quarry out the golden clouds and raise the Acropolis, and the rock-hewn Place of Assembly, whence new orators may thunder over Greece; and the theatre where AEschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, godlike still, may contend for the prize.

Yet--and there is a further change of thought--yet that may not be.

To build that poetic vision is to slip away from reality, and the true use of it.

The tragedy is there--irrevocable.