Classic Poem

These are not my trophies. Who has disgraced the temple of Ares with these shameful trappings: unbruised helmets; flashing shields, unstained with blood; unbroken spear-shafts? My face reddens at the sight, and sweat falls from my brow upon my chest.
Deck a festive hall or a bridal chamber with such arms, but enrich this temple with the blood-stained spoils of war!