Classic Poem

Past the gray shore, faint in the mist as when
The shadow ships lay high in drifted sand,
Swing the dim dreadnoughts, bearing hosts of men,
To hurl new ruin and blight upon this land
Of ancient wars, where death still lies in wait,
And restless winds bring echoed cries and calls,
Where on the vacant plain, those who watch late,
Hear the dull boom of falling towers and walls.
What fires, dust-smouldering, flare? What quarrel now,
For beauty wronged, stirs passionate strength to smite?
What lover with fair talk and broken vow
Steals from his host's door laughing in the night?
Helen, sleep well! No woman's yearning lips,
Nor eyes, love-weary, launch these deadly ships!