Helen of Troy | Page 7

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 again.
He
might have loved some other spring than this;
I should have kept my
life -- I let it go.
He would not love me now tho' Cypris bound
Her
girdle round me. I am Death's, not Love's.
Go from me, Sappho, back
to find the sun.
I am alone, alone. O Cyprian . . .
Love Songs
Song
You bound strong sandals on my feet,
You gave me bread and wine,

And bade me out, 'neath sun and stars,
For all the world was mine.
Oh take the sandals off my feet,
You know not what you do;
For all
my world is in your arms,
My sun and stars are you.
The Rose and the Bee
If I were a bee and you were a rose,
Would you let me in when the
gray wind blows?
Would you hold your petals wide apart,
Would
you let me in to find your heart,
If you were a rose?
"If I were a rose and you were a bee,
You should never go when you
came to me,
I should hold my love on my heart at last,
I should
close my leaves and keep you fast,

If you were a bee."
The Song Maker
I made a hundred little songs
That told the joy and pain of love,

And sang them blithely, tho' I knew
No whit thereof.
I was a weaver deaf and blind;
A miracle was wrought for me,
But I
have lost my skill to weave
Since I can see.
For while I sang -- ah swift and strange!
Love passed and touched me
on the brow,
And I who made so many songs
Am silent now.
Wild Asters
In the spring I asked the daisies
If his words were true,
And the
clever little daisies
Always knew.
Now the fields are brown and barren,
Bitter autumn blows,
And of
all the stupid asters
Not one knows.
When Love Goes
I
O mother, I am sick of love,
I cannot laugh nor lift my head,
My
bitter dreams have broken me,
I would my love were dead.
"Drink of the draught I brew for thee,
Thou shalt have quiet in its
stead."
II
Where is the silver in the rain,
Where is the music in the sea,
Where
is the bird that sang all day
To break my heart with melody?
"The night thou badst Love fly away,
He hid them all from thee."

The Wayfarer
Love entered in my heart one day,
A sad, unwelcome guest;
But
when he begged that he might stay,
I let him wait and rest.
He broke my sleep with sorrowing,
And shook my dreams with tears,

And when my heart was fain to sing,
He stilled its joy with fears.
But now that he has gone his way,
I miss the old sweet pain,
And
sometimes in the night I pray
That he may come again.
The Princess in the Tower
I
The Princess sings:
I am the princess up in the tower
And I dream the whole day thro'

Of a knight who shall come with a silver spear
And a waving plume
of blue.
I am the princess up in the tower,
And I dream my dreams by day,

But sometimes I wake, and my eyes are wet,
When the dusk is deep
and gray.
For the peasant lovers go by beneath,
I hear them laugh and kiss,

And I forget my day-dream knight,
And long for a love like this.
II
The Minstrel sings:
I lie beside the princess' tower,
So close she cannot see my face,

And watch her dreaming all day long,
And bending with a lily's
grace.
Her cheeks are paler than the moon
That sails along a sunny sky,


And yet her silent mouth is red
Where tender words and kisses lie.
I am a minstrel with a harp,
For love of her my songs are sweet,

And yet I dare not lift the voice
That lies so far beneath her feet.
III
The Knight sings:
O princess cease your dreams awhile
And look adown your tower's
gray side --
The princess gazes far away,
Nor hears nor heeds the
words I cried.
Perchance my heart was overbold,
God made her dreams too pure to
break,
She sees the angels in the air
Fly to and fro for Mary's sake.
Farewell, I mount and go my way,
0. But oh her hair the sun sifts thro' -- The tilts and tourneys wait my
spear, I am the Knight of the Plume of Blue.
When Love Was Born
When Love was born I think he lay
Right warm on Venus' breast,

And whiles he smiled and whiles would play
And whiles would take
his rest.
But always, folded out of sight,
The wings were growing strong

That were to