Classic Poem

Such was the might of Terra's giant son,
He never fought but that he vanquished too;
Thousands and thousands had his power undone,
Yet still the secret of that power none knew.

In this it lay — his mother's potent touch.
Her fiery heart sent conquest into his.
Yet what if known? Avails a secret much
When wed to knowledge helpless weakness is?

Yet one is strong, and awful Hercules,
Now hotly struggles with the wrestler's might;
And throws him, too, but finds by swift degrees
That falls but nerve Antaeus for the fight.

Then with strained strength that made his veins stand out
More than all labors he had done before,
And muscles tense as iron through his doubt,
Antaeus' clinging feet from earth he tore.

Who strangled serpents in his infant hold,
Strangled this lifted monster in the air;
Although it stands not with the Twelve enrolled,
Which of those Toils can with this one compare?

O Truth! thou art the struggling Hercules
Coping with Error of Antaean strength: —
Once wrenched from Earth upon thy grappling knees,
In Heaven's pure air it shall be slain at length.