2 edition of Helen of Troy and other poems found in the catalog.
|The Physical Object|
|Pagination||xvi, 85 p. :|
|Number of Pages||88|
nodata File Size: 2MB.
I go toward darkness tho' I lie so still. I was no part of all the troubled crowd That moved beneath the palace windows here, And yet sometimes a knight in shining steel Would pass and catch the gleaming of my hair, And wave a mailed hand and smile at me, Whereat I made no sign and turned away, Affrighted and yet glad and full of dreams. I still am beautiful, and yet what child Would think of me as some high, heaven-sent thing, An angel, clad in gold and miniver? Olympus let the other women die; They shall be quiet when the day is done And have no care to-morrow.
The saints had hid themselves away from me, Leaving the windows black against the night; And when I sank upon the altar steps, Before the Virgin Mother and her Child, The last, pale, low-burnt taper flickered out, But in the darkness, smooth and fathomless, Still twinkled like a Helen of Troy and other poems the holy lamp That cast a dusky glow upon her face.
I thought I saw him stand, the man I love, Here in my quiet chamber, with his eyes Fixed Helen of Troy and other poems 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. It was the gods who led me to this lair, That tho' the burning winds should make me weak, They should not snatch the life from out my lips.
Go from me, Sappho, back to find the sun. It seemed but now I was the little child Who played within a garden long ago. 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.
But when I would have made the blessed sign, I found the water frozen in the font, And touched but ice within the carved stone. Lo, I shall live to conquer Greece again, To make the people love, who hate me now. Send out the singers -- let the room be still; They have not eased my pain nor brought me sleep. I will not give the grave my hands to hold, My shining hair to light oblivion.
Always I shall be Limned on the darkness like a shaft of light That glimmers and is gone. The twilight's inner flame grows blue and deep, And in my Lesbos, over leagues of sea, The temples glimmer moonwise in the trees. But I am old; the aged scarcely know The times they wake and sleep, for life burns down; They breathe the calm of death before they die.
HELEN OF TROY and OTHER POEMS BY SARA TEASDALE Author of "Sonnets to Duse, and Other Poems" To Marion Cummings Stanley  Part I WILD flight on flight against the fading dawn The flames' red wings soar upward duskily. O lift me up and I shall reach the sun!
Why have the high gods made me wreak their wrath -- Forever since my maidenhood to sow Sorrow and blood about me? I wait for one who comes with sword to slay -- The king I wronged who searches for me now; And yet he shall not slay me. We weep before the Blessed Mother's shrine, To think upon her sorrows, but her joys What nun could ever know a tithing of? The dream is worth the dying. The precious hours she watched above His sleep Were worth the fearful anguish of the end. " on their lips, and in their eyes The vision of me.
I still am beautiful, and yet what child Would think of me as some high, heaven-sent thing, An angel, clad in gold and miniver? Ornella, I will speak, for soon my lips Shall keep a silence till the end of time.