WHEN first that horse, within whose populous womb The birth was death, o'ershadowed Troy with fate, Her elders, dubious of its Grecian freight, Brought Helen there to sing the songs of home; She whispered, "Friends, I am alone; come, come!" Then, crouched within, Ulysses waxed afraid, And on his comrades' quivering mouths he laid His hands, and held them till the voice was dumb. The same was he who, lashed to his own mast, There where the sea-flowers screen the charnel-caves, Beside the sirens' singing island pass'd, Till sweetness failed along the inveterate waves.... Say, soul,--are songs of Death no heaven to thee, Nor shames her lip the cheek of Victory? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A SCREEN-MAKER by MARIANNE MOORE AN ALPINE PICTURE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH TO THE POOR by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE RAIN by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE ECSTASY [EXTASIE] by JOHN DONNE SONNET (ON AN OLD BOOK WITH UNCUT LEAVES) by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR |