Classic Poem

I am the skull of Nedjm, a Turk,
Who fought at Athens with the Giaour;
When cannon-balls were hard at work
Shattering the Parthenon — that hour
A classic fragment took me fair
Under the waist-cloth, and so made
" Ruins " of me. For long years there
My remnants with the rest have laid.
Scant burial got we from the Greek —
The green fly and the hooded crow
Helped the hot sun to leave me sleek,
Till, as thou seest, my pate did grow
White as new Parian. At the last
A Briton spied me, as he passed,
Roaming the strewed Acropolis,
And lightly fashioned me to this.
Drink! if thou wilt; and, drinking, say
Never did ancient craftsman make
Cyathus, Krater, Patera
Fitter a mighty thirst to slake.
But, call not me a thing of the clod!
The Parthenon owned no such plan!
Man made that temple for a God,
God made these temples for a man!