As Homer wrote, so Schliemann dreamed himself, half-blind,
To rise and go, to search, to find.
What centuries lost, young romance breached again,
And all against the intellect of men
Who said: mad boy, wild lad, give up your dreams
That dance by night
And shadow-show the eaves and ceiling light
With visions of high temples, shuffling cymbals,
Muffled drums;
But Schliemann turns in sleep, breaks forth a smile and
Lo! Troy comes!
Like head of David burst from marble brow,
Then neck, then monster shoulders like the prow
Of some carved boat that plows the wave!
So, beggar to all time, young Schliemann gave
More than we asked or wanted, knew or guessed;
And Troy in wave on wave and crest on crest
In stony tidal flow, like ancient sea
Now surfacing to sight surrounded he
Who dared to wonder, dream, and care to do
Unlike those men who soundless slept and no dream knew
He was the one to cry Troy’s name by night
Then, searching lostness, find and set it right.