Classic Poem

This man bends three things, a curving chaplet for his hair,
his garment curving around him and wrinkled from wear, and a king
by saying whatever he wants to say. He has pierced the rear guard
so that the cohort besieging him cried out in fear and he stretches
his long, sharp spear toward the army. Men shout, “Stop him
here! Stop him!” but that means nothing at all to him! Like an elephant
in chains, he is hindered only by the guts that are entangling his feet!
As if he were a cow that loves her calf,
he advances toward his friend who is fighting against the front ranks!