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Poets' Corner Scripting © 2000, 2020 S.L. Spanoudis and
theotherpages.org.
All rights reserved worldwide.
Transcribed for Poets' Corner
July 2000 by S.L.Spanoudis
[This 1920 work is believed to be in the public domain in the US. Please check local restrictions in other geographies.]
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HELEN OF TROY and OTHER POEMS
BY SARA TEASDALE
Author of "Sonnets to Duse, and Other Poems"
To Marion Cummings Stanley
[1911]
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Part I
Helen of Troy
- WILD flight on flight against the fading dawn
- The flames' red wings soar upward duskily.
- This is the funeral pyre and Troy is dead
- That sparkled so the day I saw it first,
- And darkened slowly after. I am she
- Who loves all beauty -- yet I wither it.
- Why have the high gods made me wreak their wrath --
- Forever since my maidenhood to sow
- Sorrow and blood about me? Lo, they keep
- Their bitter care above me even now.
- 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.
- Olympus let the other women die;
- They shall be quiet when the day is done
- And have no care to-morrow. Yet for me
- There is no rest. The gods are not so kind
- To her made half immortal like themselves.
- It is to you I owe the cruel gift,
- Leda, my mother, and the Swan, my sire,
- To you the beauty and to you the bale;
- For never woman born of man and maid
- Had wrought such havoc on the earth as I,
- Or troubled heaven with a sea of flame
- That climbed to touch the silent whirling stars
- And blotted out their brightness ere the dawn.
- Have I not made the world to weep enough?
- Give death to me. Yet life is more than death;
- How could I leave the sound of singing winds,
- The strong sweet scent that breathes from off the sea,
- Or shut my eyes forever to the spring?
- I will not give the grave my hands to hold,
- My shining hair to light oblivion.
- Have those who wander through the ways of death,
- The still wan fields Elysian, any love
- To lift their breasts with longing, any lips
- To thirst against the quiver of a kiss?
- Lo, I shall live to conquer Greece again,
- To make the people love, who hate me now.
- My dreams are over, I have ceased to cry
- Against the fate that made men love my mouth
- And left their spirits all too deaf to hear
- The little songs that echoed through my soul.
- I have no anger now. The dreams are done;
- Yet since the Greeks and Trojans would not see
- Aught but my body's fairness, till the end,
- In all the islands set in all the seas,
- And all the lands that lie beneath the sun,
- Till light turn darkness, and till time shall sleep,
- Men's lives shall waste with longing after me,
- For I shall be the sum of their desire,
- The whole of beauty, never seen again.
- And they shall stretch their arms and starting, wake
- With "Helen!" on their lips, and in their eyes
- The vision of me. Always I shall be
- Limned on the darkness like a shaft of light
- That glimmers and is gone. They shall behold
- Each one his dream that fashions me anew; --
- With hair like lakes that glint beneath the stars
- Dark as sweet midnight, or with hair aglow
- Like burnished gold that still retains the fire.
- Yea, I shall haunt until the dusk of time
- The heavy eyelids filled with fleeting dreams.
- 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. I shall stand
- With lifted head and look within his eyes,
- Baring my breast to him and to the sun.
- He shall not have the power to stain with blood
- That whiteness -- for the thirsty sword shall fall
- And he shall cry and catch me in his arms,
- Bearing me back to Sparta on his breast.
- Lo, I shall live to conquer Greece again!
Beatrice
- Send out the singers -- let the room be still;
- They have not eased my pain nor brought me sleep.
- Close out the sun, for I would have it dark
- That I may feel how black the grave will be.
- The sun is setting, for the light is red,
- And you are outlined in a golden fire,
- Like Ursula upon an altar-screen.
- Come, leave the light and sit beside my bed,
- For I have had enough of saints and prayers.
- Strange broken thoughts are beating in my brain,
- They come and vanish and again they come.
- It is the fever driving out my soul,
- And Death stands waiting by the arras there.
- Ornella, I will speak, for soon my lips
- Shall keep a silence till the end of time.
- You have a mouth for loving -- listen then:
- Keep tryst with Love before Death comes to tryst;
- For I, who die, could wish that I had lived
- A little closer to the world of men,
- Not watching always thro' the blazoned panes
- That show the world in chilly greens and blues
- And grudge the sunshine that would enter in.
- 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.
- Ah, dreams and dreams that asked no answering!
- I should have wrought to make my dreams come true,
- But all my life was like an autumn day,
- Full of gray quiet and a hazy peace.
- What was I saying? All is gone again.
- It seemed but now I was the little child
- Who played within a garden long ago.
- Beyond the walls the festal trumpets blared.
- Perhaps they carried some Madonna by
- With tossing ensigns in a sea of flowers,
- A painted Virgin with a painted Child,
- Who saw for once the sweetness of the sun
- Before they shut her in an altar-niche
- Where tapers smoke against the windy gloom.
- I gathered roses redder than my gown
- And played that I was Saint Elizabeth,
- Whose wine had turned to roses in her hands.
- And as I played, a child came thro' the gate,
- A boy who looked at me without a word,
- As tho' he saw stretch far behind my head
- Long lines of radiant angels, row on row.
- That day we spoke a little, timidly,
- And after that I never heard the voice
- That sang so many songs for love of me.
- He was content to stand and watch me pass,
- To seek for me at matins every day,
- Where I could feel his eyes the while I prayed.
- I think if he had stretched his hands to me,
- Or moved his lips to say a single word,
- I might have loved him -- he had wondrous eyes.
- Ornella, are you there? I cannot see --
- Is every one so lonely when he dies?,p>
- The room is filled with lights -- with waving lights --
- Who are the men and women 'round the bed?
- What have I said, Ornella? Have they heard?
- There was no evil hidden in my life,
- And yet, and yet, I would not have them know --
- Am I not floating in a mist of light?
- O lift me up and I shall reach the sun!
Sappho
- The twilight's inner flame grows blue and deep,
- And in my Lesbos, over leagues of sea,
- The temples glimmer moonwise in the trees.
- Twilight has veiled the little flower face
- Here on my heart, but still the night is kind
- And leaves her warm sweet weight against my breast.
- Am I that Sappho who would run at dusk
- Along the surges creeping up the shore
- When tides came in to ease the hungry beach,
- And running, running, till the night was black,
- Would fall forespent upon the chilly sand
- And quiver with the winds from off the sea?
- Ah, quietly the shingle waits the tides
- Whose waves are stinging kisses, but to me
- Love brought no peace, nor darkness any rest.
- I crept and touched the foam with fevered hands
- And cried to Love, from whom the sea is sweet,
- From whom the sea is bitterer than death.
- Ah, Aphrodite, if I sing no more
- To thee, God's daughter, powerful as God,
- It is that thou hast made my life too sweet
- To hold the added sweetness of a song.
- There is a quiet at the heart of love,
- And I have pierced the pain and come to peace.
- I hold my peace, my Cleis, on my heart;
- And softer than a little wild bird's wing
- Are kisses that she pours upon my mouth.
- Ah, never any more when spring like fire
- Will flicker in the newly opened leaves,
- Shall I steal forth to seek for solitude
- Beyond the lure of light Alcaeus' lyre,
- Beyond the sob that stilled Erinna's voice.
- Ah, never with a throat that aches with song,
- Beneath the white uncaring sky of spring,
- Shall I go forth to hide awhile from Love
- The quiver and the crying of my heart.
- Still I remember how I strove to flee
- The love-note of the birds, and bowed my head
- To hurry faster, but upon the ground
- I saw two winged shadows side by side,
- And all the world's spring passion stifled me.
- Ah, Love, there is no fleeing from thy might,
- No lonely place where thou hast never trod,
- No desert thou hast left uncarpeted
- With flowers that spring beneath thy perfect feet.
- In many guises didst thou come to me;
- I saw thee by the maidens while they danced,
- Phaon allured me with a look of thine,
- In Anactoria I knew thy grace,
- I looked at Cercolas and saw thine eyes;
- But never wholly, soul and body mine,
- Didst thou bid any love me as I loved.
- Now I have found the peace that fled from me;
- Close, close, against my heart I hold my world.
- Ah, Love that made my life a lyric cry,
- Ah, Love that tuned my lips to lyres of thine,
- I taught the world thy music, now alone
- I sing for one who falls asleep to hear.
Marianna Alcoforando
- (The Portuguese Nun -- 1640-1723)
- The sparrows wake beneath the convent eaves;
- I think I have not slept the whole night through.
- 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.
- The long night ends, the day comes creeping in,
- Showing the sorrows that the darkness hid,
- The bended head of Christ, the blood, the thorns,
- The wall's gray stains of damp, the pallet bed
- Where little Sister Marta dreams of saints,
- Waking with arms outstretched imploringly
- That seek to stay a vision's vanishing.
- I never had a vision, yet for me
- Our Lady smiled while all the convent slept
- One winter midnight hushed around with snow --
- I thought she might be kinder than the rest,
- And so I came to kneel before her feet,
- Sick with love's sorrow and love's bitterness.
- 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.
- 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 star the holy lamp
- That cast a dusky glow upon her face.
- Then through the numbing cold peace fell on me,
- Submission and the gracious gift of tears,
- For when I looked, Oh! blessed miracle,
- Her lips had parted and Our Lady smiled!
- And then I knew that Love is worth its pain
- And that my heart was richer for his sake,
- Since lack of love is bitterest of all.
- The day is broad awake -- the first long beam
- Of level sun finds Sister Marta's face,
- And trembling there it lights a timid smile
- Upon the lips that say so many prayers,
- And have no words for hate and none for love.
- But when she passes where her prayers have gone,
- Will God not smile a little sadly then,
- And send her back with gentle words to earth
- That she may hold a child against her breast
- And feel its little hands upon her hair?
- 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 precious hours she watched above His sleep
- Were worth the fearful anguish of the end.
- Yea, lack of love is bitterest of all;
- Yet I have felt what thing it is to know
- One thought forever, sleeping or awake;
- To say one name whose sweetness grows so strange
- That it might work a spell on those who weep;
- To feel the weight of love upon my heart
- So heavy that the blood can scarcely flow.
- Love comes to some unlooked-for, quietly,
- As when at twilight, with a soft surprise,
- We see the new-born crescent in the blue;
- And unto others love is planet-like,
- A cold and placid gleam that wavers not,
- And there are those who wait the call of love
- Expectant of his coming, as we watch
- To see the east grow pallid ere the moon
- Lifts up her flower-like head against the night.
- Love came to me as comes a cruel sun,
- That on some rain-drenched morning, when the leaves
- Are bowed beneath their clinging weight of drops,
- Tears through the mist, and burns with fervent heat
- The tender grasses and the meadow flowers;
- Then suddenly the heavy clouds close in
- And through the dark the thunder's muttering
- Is drowned amid the dashing of the rain.
- But I have seen my day grow calm again.
- The sun sets slowly on a peaceful world,
- And sheds a quiet light across the fields.
Guenevere
- I was a queen, and I have lost my crown;
- A wife, and I have broken all my vows;
- A lover, and I ruined him I loved: --
- There is no other havoc left to do.
- A little month ago I was a queen,
- And mothers held their babies up to see
- When I came riding out of Camelot.
- The women smiled, and all the world smiled too.
- And now, what woman's eyes would smile on 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?
- The world would run from me, and yet am I
- No different from the queen they used to love.
- If water, flowing silver over stones,
- Is forded, and beneath the horses' feet
- Grows turbid suddenly, it clears again,
- And men will drink it with no thought of harm.
- Yet I am branded for a single fault.
- I was the flower amid a toiling world,
- Where people smiled to see one happy thing,
- And they were proud and glad to raise me high;
- They only asked that I should be right fair,
- A little kind, and gowned wondrously,
- And surely it were little praise to me
- If I had pleased them well throughout my life.
- I was a queen, the daughter of a king.
- The crown was never heavy on my head,
- It was my right, and was a part of me.
- The women thought me proud, the men were kind,
- And bowed right gallantly to kiss my hand,
- And watched me as I passed them calmly by,
- Along the halls I shall not tread again.
- What if, to-night, I should revisit them?
- The warders at the gates, the kitchen-maids,
- The very beggars would stand off from me,
- And I, their queen, would climb the stairs alone,
- Pass through the banquet-hall, a loathed thing,
- And seek my chambers for a hiding-place,
- And I should find them but a sepulchre,
- The very rushes rotted on the floors,
- The fire in ashes on the freezing hearth.
- I was a queen, and he who loved me best
- Made me a woman for a night and day,
- And now I go unqueened forevermore.
- A queen should never dream on summer eves,
- When hovering spells are heavy in the dusk: --
- I think no night was ever quite so still,
- So smoothly lit with red along the west,
- So deeply hushed with quiet through and through.
- And strangely clear, and deeply dyed with light,
- The trees stood straight against a paling sky,
- With Venus burning lamp-like in the west.
- I walked alone amid a thousand flowers,
- That drooped their heads and drowsed beneath the dew,
- And all my thoughts were quieted to sleep.
- Behind me, on the walk, I heard a step --
- I did not know my heart could tell his tread,
- I did not know I loved him till that hour.
- Within my breast I felt a wild, sick pain,
- The garden reeled a little, I was weak,
- And quick he came behind me, caught my arms,
- That ached beneath his touch; and then I swayed,
- My head fell backward and I saw his face.
- All this grows bitter that was once so sweet,
- And many mouths must drain the dregs of it.
- But none will pity me, nor pity him
- Whom Love so lashed, and with such cruel thongs.
Erinna
- They sent you in to say farewell to me,
- No, do not shake your head; I see your eyes
- That shine with tears. Sappho, you saw the sun
- Just now when you came hither, and again,
- When you have left me, all the shimmering
- Great meadows will laugh lightly, and the sun
- Put round about you warm invisible arms
- As might a lover, decking you with light.
- I go toward darkness tho' I lie so still.
- If I could see the sun, I should look up
- And drink the light until my eyes were blind;
- I should kneel down and kiss the blades of grass,
- And I should call the birds with such a voice,
- With such a longing, tremulous and keen,
- That they would fly to me and on the breast
- Bear evermore to tree-tops and to fields
- The kiss I gave them. Sappho, tell me this,
- Was I not sometimes fair? My eyes, my mouth,
- My hair that loved the wind, were they not worth
- The breath of love upon them? Yet he passed,
- And he will pass to-night when all the air
- Is blue with twilight; but I shall not see.
- I shall have gone forever. Hold my hands,
- Hold fast that Death may never come between;
- Swear by the gods you will not let me go;
- Make songs for Death as you would sing to Love --
- But you will not assuage him. He alone
- Of all the gods will take no gifts from men.
- I am afraid, afraid.
-
Sappho, lean down.
- Last night the fever gave a dream to me,
- It takes my life and gives a little dream.
- I thought I saw him stand, the man I love,
- Here in my quiet chamber, with his eyes
- Fixed on 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.
- 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.
- The dream is worth the dying. Do not smile
- So sadly on me with your shining eyes,
- You who can set your sorrow to a song
- And ease your hurt by singing. But to me
- My songs are less than sea-sand that the wind
- Drives stinging over me and bears away.
- I have no care what place the grains may fall,
- Nor of my songs, if Time shall blow them back,
- As land-wind breaks the lines of 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 . . .
On to the next poem.
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