Again the clash is East, the Gates are barred. <br />The rolling echoes of of Troy arise <br />With trebled sound: its weary threshold scarred <br />With scattered dead once more, and wild with cries. <br /> <br />The noise that dinned when siting Hellas reeled <br />Before the brave defence of Hector’s horde, <br />The blows that burst on Agamemmnon’s shield, <br />Or echoed from Achilles’ threshing sword <br />Were weak and small. Before this mighty blast <br />They seem the tinklings of a timid past. <br />To-day the Grecian arms are still and deep <br />Within the tomb: those heroes deep in dust; <br />The eyes of Attic honour closed with sleep, <br />And wise Ulysses’ arrows red with rust.<br /><br />Leon Gellert<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/again-the-clash-is-east/
