Helen Of Troy

On an ancient vase representing in bas-relief the flight of Helen.         This is the vase of Love         Whose feet would ever rove             O'er land and sea;         Whose hopes forever seek         Bright eyes, the vermeiled cheek,             And ways made free.         Do we not understand         Why thou didst leave thy land,             Thy spouse, thy hearth?         Helen of Troy, Greek art         Hath made our heart thy heart,             Thy mirth our mirth.         For Paris did appear,         Curled hair and rosy ear             And tapering hands.         He spoke, the blood ran fast,         He touched, and killed the past,             And clove its bands.         And this, I deem, is why         The restless ages sigh,             Helen, for thee.         Whate'er we do or dream,         Whate'er we say or seem,             We would be free.         We would forsake old love,         And all the pain thereof,             And all the care;         We would find out new seas,         And lands more strange than these,             And flowers more fair.         We would behold fresh skies         Where summer never dies             And amaranths spring;         Lands where the halcyon hours         Nest over scented bowers             On folded wing.         We would be crowned with bays,         And spend the long bright days             On sea or shore;         Or sit by haunted woods,         And watch the deep sea's moods,             And hear its roar.         Beneath that ancient sky         Who is not fain to fly             As men have fled?         Ah! we would know relief         From marts of wine and beef,             And oil and bread.         Helen of Troy, Greek art         Hath made our heart thy heart,             Thy love our love.         For poesy, like thee,         Must fly and wander free             As the wild dove.