Classic Poem

'T WAS yet an hour to dawn. Revengeful storm
— — Tortured the Ægean air. The sea was high,
And things of mist and water without form
— — Rose, ran, were lost. The darkness swelled with cry.

Then greatly heard, 'mid all that night's alarms
— — Most hideous, was a sound of cities torn,
Of glory strangled in an ocean's arms,
— — Of death. The tempest sped; — and it was morn.

From high Oliaros looking forth alone,
— — The sculptor saw a sea with isles impearled, —
But not yon island of the golden stone:
— — Paros was sunk. A calm lay on the world.

His frighted lip grew calm. He looked around.
— — Never shone day more marvellous. — But he
Swore to his heart an oath that had no sound,
— — Darkly, and cast his chisel to the sea.