Classic Poem

Theris the old, the waves that harvested,
More keen than birds that labor in the sea,
With spear and net, by shore and rocky bed
Not with the well-manned galley, labored he;
Him not the Star of Storms, nor sudden sweep
Of wind with all his years hath smitten and bent.
But in his hut of reeds he fell asleep,
As fades a lamp when all the oil is spent:
This tomb nor wife nor children raised, but we
His fellow-toilers, fishers of the sea.