Classic Poem

Him, before Thebes, inflexible in scorn,
Sought out the life-consuming bolt of Jove;
And those all-conquering gods with whom he strove
He would not please by being overborne:
Nay, rather, erect against the level morn
In death he towered; noon her splendour drove
Full in his unshut eyes; and till dusk wove
His rigid limbs such purples as adorn
Great kings arisen in council, stood this king.
Swathed in voluminous folds of the rich night,
Dauntless and proud, he paced his path to hell:
The stolid Fates peered after, wondering,
And all Olympus paused in baffled spite,
Foiled by one human will's imperial spell!