Poems By Alfred Domett |
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Antistrophe 1.
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24
Antistrophe 1.
See! clouds of stones are thickly soaring,Against the ramparts, crashing, roaring—
Nearer rolls the desperate fight!
'Tis at the gate those falchions bright
Are clashing on the brass-bound shields—
Who now, Apollo, wins or yields?
Mistress of the Conflict! hear!
Fray-enchanted Queen! appear!
Yield not thus to adverse Fates
The City of the Seven Gates!
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