Jeff Harrison
Helen
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home, remembering past ills and past enchantments, the enchantments of all Greece, the languors of old Rome. The agate lamp within thy hand. The lustre as of olives where she stands. How statue-like I see thee stand, remembering past enchantments and past ills.
The agate lamp within thy hand. The still eyes in the white face. The lustre as of olives where she stands. The folded scroll within thy hand. Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face: white ash amid funereal cypresses. The enchantments of all Greece, the languors of old Rome. How statue-like I see thee stand. The still eyes in the white face remembering past enchantments and past ills. Greece sees, unmoved, the agate lamp within thy hand. Thy Naiad airs have brought me home. The lustre as of olives where she stands. White ash amid funereal cypresses.
Helena
I might have unto my paramour that heavenly Helen which I saw of late. Ah, Psyche, too simple is my wit to tell her praise. The agate lamp within thy hand. Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter when he appeared to hapless Semele. How statue-like I see thee. Ah, Psyche, from the regions which are Holy-Land!
The agate lamp within thy hand. Was this the face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium? In yon brilliant window-niche brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter when he appeared to hapless Semele. The agate lamp within thy hand. Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face. Be silent, then, for danger is in words. Too simple is my wit to tell her praise whom all the world admires for majesty. How statue-like I see thee in wanton Arethusa's azured arms. Was this the face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium? Ah, Psyche, the agate lamp within thy hand. That heavenly Helen which I saw of late. Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter when he appeared to hapless Semele. Be silent, then, for danger is in words
And Then Return To Helen
Too simple is my wit to tell her praise. The still eyes in the white face. Crowding swept my neck out to the willows. Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter when he appeared to hapless Semele. Thou spake the ballad through. The agate lamp within thy hand. Was this the face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium? All surprises should be filthy with dust. The lustre as of olives where she stands. Silent and cygnet lantern. The still eyes in the white face.
The agate lamp within thy hand. Light though unlucky, yes, dead but for stars. That heavenly Helen which I saw of late. Was this the face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium? The agate lamp within thy hand. White ash amid funereal cypresses, your haunt is burst. Remembering past enchantments and past ills. Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter when he appeared to hapless Semele. Light though unlucky, yes, dead but for stars. The lustre as of olives where she stands. I might have unto my paramour that heavenly Helen which I saw of late. The still eyes in the white face. Too simple is my wit to tell her praise whom all the world admires for majesty. All surprises should be filthy with dust. The agate lamp within thy hand. Was this the face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium? Thou spake the ballad through, remembering past enchantments and past ills.