And as the dying sunset through the rain
Will flush with rosy glow a mountain height,
Even so, at his last smile, a blush again
Pass’d over Helen’s face, so changed and white;
And through her tears she smiled, his last delight,
The last of pleasant life he knew, for grey
The veil of darkness gather’d, and the night
Closed o’er his head, and Paris pass’d away.
LXIV.
Then for one hour in Helen’s heart re-born,
Awoke the fatal love that was of old,
Ere she knew all, and the cold cheeks outworn,
She kiss’d, she kiss’d the hair of wasted gold,
The hands that ne’er her body should enfold;
Then slow she follow’d where the bearers led,
Follow’d dead Paris through the frozen wold
Back to the town where all men wish’d her dead.
LXV.
Perchance it was a sin, I know not, this!
Howe’er it be, she had a woman’s heart,
And not without a tear, without a kiss,
Without some strange new birth of the old smart,
From her old love of the brief days could part
For ever; though the dead meet, ne’er shall they
Meet, and be glad by Aphrodite’s art,
Whose souls have wander’d each its several way.
* * * * *
LXVI.
And now was come the day when on a pyre
Men laid fair Paris, in a broider’d pall,
And fragrant spices cast into the fire,
And round the flame slew many an Argive thrall.
When, like a ghost, there came among them all,
A woman, once beheld by them of yore,
When first through storm and driving rain the tall
Black ships of Argos dash’d upon the shore.
LXVII.
Not now in wrath Œnone came; but fair
Like a young bride when nigh her bliss she knows,
And in the soft night of her fallen hair
Shone flowers like stars, more white than Ida’s snows,
And scarce men dared to look on her, of those
The pyre that guarded; suddenly she came,
And sprang upon the pyre, and shrill arose
Her song of death, like incense through the flame.