Greek To Me

Shy Pleiades, grim Orion
starry souffle laid in pitch
prickling crystal night-time quarry
make their run about the pole

Till they return in fruitful pose
the stories we have told, and wrote
of Homer and his bag of tricks
still luring, sweet and scented high

My love's of bronze and bucklers stout
to shield and waste Achaian breath
somber, nearing tide swept shores
triumph laughs from cloudy perch

The poet swears and beats his breast
more fierce to bring his Delphic lines
to life, but mortal tears enfold
and flay the beauty from his bones.

Ed Stevens

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