Helen of Troy | Page 6

yet am I
No
different from the queen they used to love.
If water, flowing silver
over stones,
Is forded, and beneath the horses' feet
Grows turbid
suddenly, it clears again,
And men will drink it with no thought of
harm.
Yet I am branded for a single fault.
I was the flower amid a toiling world,
Where people smiled to see
one happy thing,
And they were proud and glad to raise me high;

They only asked that 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