(For Kostas Kaftos)
The basement gapes to pick-axe blow,
As bee-hive rafters thud and ring.
Pray what will this grey package show,
Thrown in a nook and tied with string?
Excitement climbs to fever mark;
There is so much we have not seen;
O treasures lurking in the dark,
Come forth, reveal what you have been!
A rose fallen from Helen’s lips?
The dirk worn by her pretty boy?
The roll of Agamemnon’s ships,
Or green rust once a shield of Troy?