Great Oracle, why are you staring at me,
    do I baffle you, do I make you despair?
    I, Americus, the American,
    wrought from the dark in my mother long ago,
    from the dark of ancient Europa---
    Why are you staring at me now
    in the dusk of our civilization---
    Why are you staring at me
    as if I were America itself
    the new Empire
    vaster than any in ancient days
    with its electronic highways
    carrying its corporate monoculture
    around the world
    And English the Latin of our days---
Great Oracle, sleeping through the centuries, 
    Awaken now at last
    And tell us how to save us from ourselves
    and how to survive our own rulers 
    who would make a plutocracy of our democracy 
    in the Great Divide
    between the rich and the poor
    in whom Walt Whitman heard America singing
O long-silent Sybil, 
    you of the winged dreams, 
    Speak out from your temple of light 
    as the serious constellations 
    with Greek names
    still stare down on us 
    as a lighthouse moves its megaphone 
    over the sea
    Speak out and shine upon us 
    the sea-light of Greece 
    the diamond light of Greece
Far-seeing Sybil, forever hidden, 
    Come out of your cave at last 
    And speak to us in the poet's voice 
    the voice of the fourth person singular 
    the voice of the inscrutable future 
    the voice of the people mixed
    with a wild soft laughter---
    And give us new dreams to dream, 
    Give us new myths to live by!