Classic Poem

His golden face, un tipo ,
Was minted like a coin;
On the reverse un toro , —
So stood his neck and loin.
The bull of Agrigentum
A thousand years had ploughed
The furrow of his fathers, —
Per Baccho! he was proud!

To the beautiful old ages
His line ran straight and true;
His blood coursed like the clover-tops
Beneath his cheeks' bronze hue;
And all his skin was polished brown,
And muscled hard with toil;
And when he turned his back, Ecco!
A classic of the soil.