Classic Poem

Unnumbered pilgrims to the shrine of Thought
Full deep have quaff'd thee, fount of pure delight;
Yet flowd'st thou not a whit less cool and bright
For me, when with thy virtue's aid I sought
For Knowledge of that world, where hero fought
With hero, seeking to maintain the right,
Where rest came ever with the ambrosial night,
And rosy dawn awoke great hearts ne'er fraught
With care that wrinkles brows. O towers of Troy!
O Priam's halls, how doth your story teem
With pleasures sweet though sad; sweet as the tones
Of divine strains which lull but never cloy;
It holds me as the memory of a dream
Tinged with the dying glow of many suns.