Helen of Troy | Page 6

I should be right fair,?A little kind, and gowned wondrously,?And surely it were little praise to me?If I had pleased them well throughout my life.
I was a queen, the daughter of a king.?The crown was never heavy on my head,?It was my right, and was a part of me.?The women thought me proud, the men were kind,?And bowed right gallantly to kiss my hand,?And watched me as I passed them calmly by,?Along the halls I shall not tread again.?What if, to-night, I should revisit them??The warders at the gates, the kitchen-maids,?The very beggars would stand off from me,?And I, their queen, would climb the stairs alone,?Pass through the banquet-hall, a loathed thing,?And seek my chambers for a hiding-place,?And I should find them but a sepulchre,?The very rushes rotted on the floors,?The fire in ashes on the freezing hearth.?I was a queen, and he who loved me best?Made me a woman for a night and day,?And now I go unqueened forevermore.?A queen should never dream on summer eves,?When hovering spells are heavy in the dusk: --?I think no night was ever quite so still,?So smoothly lit with red along the west,?So deeply hushed with quiet through and through.?And strangely clear, and deeply dyed with light,?The trees stood straight against a paling sky,?With Venus burning lamp-like in the west.
I walked alone amid a thousand flowers,?That drooped their heads and drowsed beneath the dew,?And all my thoughts were quieted to sleep.?Behind me, on the walk, I heard a step --?I did not know my heart could tell his tread,?I did not know I loved him till that hour.?Within my breast I felt a wild, sick pain,?The garden reeled a little, I was weak,?And quick he came behind me, caught my arms,?That ached beneath his touch; and then I swayed,?My head fell backward and I saw his face.
All this grows bitter that was once so sweet,?And many mouths must drain the dregs of it.?But none will pity me, nor pity him?Whom Love so lashed, and with such cruel thongs.
Erinna
They sent you in to say farewell to me,?No, do not shake your head; I see your eyes?That shine with tears. Sappho, you saw the sun?Just now when you came hither, and again,?When you have left me, all the shimmering?Great meadows will laugh lightly, and the sun?Put round about you warm invisible arms?As might a lover, decking you with light.?I go toward darkness tho' I lie so still.?If I could see the sun, I should look up?And drink the light until my eyes were blind;?I should kneel down and kiss the blades of grass,?And I should call the birds with such a voice,?With such a longing, tremulous and keen,?That they would fly to me and on the breast?Bear evermore to tree-tops and to fields?The kiss I gave them. Sappho, tell me this,?Was I not sometimes fair? My eyes, my mouth,?My hair that loved the wind, were they not worth?The breath of love upon them? Yet he passed,?And he will pass to-night when all the air?Is blue with twilight; but I shall not see.?I shall have gone forever. Hold my hands,?Hold fast that Death may never come between;?Swear by the gods you will not let me go;?Make songs for Death as you would sing to Love --?But you will not assuage him. He alone?Of all the gods will take no gifts from men.?I am afraid, afraid.
Sappho, lean down.?Last night the fever gave a dream to me,?It takes my life and gives a little dream.?I thought I saw him stand, the man I love,?Here in my quiet chamber, with his eyes?Fixed on me as I entered, while he drew?Silently toward me -- he who night by night?Goes by my door without a thought of me --?Neared me and put his hand behind my head,?And leaning toward me, kissed me on the mouth.?That was a little dream for Death to give,?Too short to take the whole of life for, yet?I woke with lips made quiet by a kiss.?The dream is worth the dying. Do not smile?So sadly on me with your shining eyes,?You who can set your sorrow to a song?And ease your hurt by singing. But to me?My songs are less than sea-sand that the wind?Drives stinging over me and bears away.?I have no care what place the grains may fall,?Nor of my songs, if Time shall blow them back,?As land-wind breaks the lines of dying foam?Along the bright wet beaches, scattering?The flakes once more against the laboring sea,?Into oblivion. What care have I?To please Apollo since Love hearkens not??Your words will live forever, men will say?"She was the perfect lover" -- I shall die,?I loved too much to live. Go Sappho, go --?I hate your hands that beat so full of life,?Go, lest my hatred hurt you. I shall die,?But you will live to love and love