The New Helen

　The New Helen

　　Where hast thou been since round the walls of Troy

　　The sons of God fought in that great emprise？

　　Why dost thou walk our common earth again？

　　Hast thou forgotten that impassioned boy，

　　His purple galley¹ and his Tyrian men

　　And treacherous² Aphrodite's mocking eyes？

　　For surely it was thou， who， like a star

　　Hung in the silver silence of the night，

　　Didst lure³ the Old World's chivalry⁴ and might

　　Into the clamorous⁵ crimson⁷ waves of war！

　　Or didst thou rule the fire-laden moon？

　　In amorous⁶ Sidon was thy temple built

　　Over the light and laughter of the sea

　　Where， behind lattice scarlet⁸-wrought and gilt⁹，

　　Some brown-limbed girl did weave thee tapestry¹⁰，

　　All through the waste and wearied hours of noon；

　　Till her wan¹¹ cheek with flame of passion burned，

　　And she rose up the sea-washed lips to kiss

　　Of some glad Cyprian sailor， safe returned

　　From Calpe and the cliffs of Herakles！

　　No！ thou art Helen， and none other one！

　　It was for thee that young Sarpedon died，

　　And Memnon's manhood was untimely spent；

　　It was for thee gold-crested Hector tried

　　With Thetis' child that evil race to run，

　　In the last year of thy beleaguerment；

　　Ay！ even now the glory of thy fame

　　Burns in those fields of trampled¹² asphodel，

　　Where the high lords whom Ilion knew so well

　　Clash ghostly shields， and call upon thy name.

　　Where hast thou been？ in that enchanted¹³ land

　　Whose slumbering¹⁴ vales forlorn Calypso knew，

　　Where never mower¹⁵ rose at break of day

　　But all unswathed the trammelling grasses grew，

　　And the sad shepherd saw the tall corn stand

　　Till summer's red had changed to withered¹⁶ grey？

　　Didst thou lie there by some Lethaean stream

　　Deep brooding on thine ancient memory，

　　The crash of broken spears， the fiery¹⁷ gleam

　　From shivered helm， the Grecian battle-cry？

　　Nay¹⁸， thou wert hidden in that hollow hill

　　With one who is forgotten utterly¹⁹，

　　That discrowned Queen men call the Erycine；

　　Hidden away that never mightst thou see

　　The face of Her， before whose mouldering²⁰ shrine²¹

　　To-day at Rome the silent nations kneel；

　　Who gat from Love no joyous²² gladdening，

　　But only Love's intolerable pain，

　　Only a sword to pierce her heart in twain，

　　Only the bitterness of child-bearing.

　　The lotus-leaves which heal the wounds of Death

　　Lie in thy hand； O， be thou kind to me，

　　While yet I know the summer of my days；

　　For hardly can my tremulous lips draw breath

　　To fill the silver trumpet²³ with thy praise，

　　So bowed am I before thy mystery；

　　So bowed and broken on Love's terrible wheel，

　　That I have lost all hope and heart to sing，

　　Yet care I not what ruin time may bring

　　If in thy temple thou wilt²⁴ let me kneel.

　　Alas²⁵， alas， thou wilt not tarry here，

　　But， like that bird， the servant of the sun，

　　Who flies before the north wind and the night，

　　So wilt thou fly our evil land and drear，

　　Back to the tower of thine old delight，

　　And the red lips of young Euphorion；

　　Nor shall I ever see thy face again，

　　But in this poisonous garden-close must stay，

　　Crowning my brows with the thorn-crown of pain，

　　Till all my loveless life shall pass away.

　　O Helen！ Helen！ Helen！ yet a while，

　　Yet for a little while， O， tarry here，

　　Till the dawn cometh and the shadows flee！

　　For in the gladsome sunlight of thy smile

　　Of heaven or hell I have no thought or fear，

　　Seeing I know no other god but thee：

　　No other god save him， before whose feet

　　In nets of gold the tired planets move，

　　The incarnate²⁶ spirit of spiritual love

　　Who in thy body holds his joyous seat.

　　Thou wert not born as common women are！

　　But， girt with silver splendour of the foam²⁷，

　　Didst from the depths of sapphire²⁸ seas arise！

　　And at thy coming some immortal²⁹ star，

　　Bearded with flame， blazed in the Eastern skies，

　　And waked the shepherds on thine island-home.

　　Thou shalt not die： no asps of Egypt creep

　　Close at thy heels to taint³⁰ the delicate air；

　　No sullen-blooming poppies stain thy hair，

　　Those scarlet heralds³¹ of eternal sleep.

　　Lily of love， pure and inviolate³²！

　　Tower of ivory！ red rose of fire！

　　Thou hast come down our darkness to illume：

　　For we， close-caught in the wide nets of Fate，

　　Wearied with waiting for the World's Desire，

　　Aimlessly wandered in the House of gloom，

　　Aimlessly sought some slumberous³³ anodyne³⁴

　　For wasted lives， for lingering wretchedness，

　　Till we beheld³⁵ thy re-arisen shrine，

　　And the white glory of thy loveliness.