THAT Lady, chiefest slave of Love her lord, By Jove the Swan begot, and sister born To the great Twins, whose beauty's rising morn Roused up all Europe 'gainst the Asian horde, One day unto her mirror spoke this word, Seeing her face of all its graces shorn: "With how great madness were my husbands torn To seek such rotting flesh with royal sword! "Ah! Gods, too jealous of our little day! Fair women's youth flies once for all away, Yet serpents cast their age each Spring, for years." . . . So Helen spoke, and wept lost beauty's dower. The story is for you. Pluck your youth's flower! When April's gone, October bringeth tears. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON AN UNFINISHED STATUE BY MICHAEL ANGELO by GEORGE SANTAYANA ON A LUTE FOUND IN A SARCOPHAGUS by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE A QUESTION by JOHN MILLINGTON SYNGE THE HOSTING OF THE SIDHE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE COMBAT, BETWEENE CONSCIENCE AND COVETOUSNESSE by RICHARD BARNFIELD AFTER-SIGHT by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |