For the whole city and all the low-lying land Flames, and the soft air sounds with them that come; The gods give all these fruit of all their works.
Set thine eye thither and fix thy spirit and say Whom there thou knowest; for sharp mixed shadow and wind Blown up between the morning and the mist, With steam of steeds and flash of bridle or wheel, And fire, and parcels of the broken dawn, And dust divided by hard light, and spears That shine and shift as the edge of wild beasts' eyes, Smite upon mine; so fiery their blind edge Burns, and bright points break up and baffle day.
The first, for many I know not, being far off, Peleus the Larissaean, couched with whom Sleeps the white sea-bred wife and silver-shod, Fair as fled foam, a goddess; and their son Most swift and splendid of men's children born, Most like a god, full of the future fame.
Who are these shining like one sundered star?
Thy sister's sons, a double flower of men.
O sweetest kin to me in all the world, O twin-born blood of Leda, gracious heads Like kindled lights in untempestuous heaven, Fair flower-like stars on the iron foam of fight, With what glad heart and kindliness of soul, Even to the staining of both eyes with tears And kindling of warm eyelids with desire, A great way off I greet you, and rejoice Seeing you so fair, and moulded like as gods. Far off ye come, and least in years of these, But lordliest, but worth love to look upon.
Even such (for sailing hither I saw far hence, And where Eurotas hollows his moist rock Nigh Sparta with a strenuous-hearted stream) Even such I saw their sisters; one swan-white, The little Helen, and less fair than she Fair Clytaemnestra, grave as pasturing fawns Who feed and fear some arrow; but at whiles, As one smitten with love or wrung with joy, She laughs and lightens with her eyes, and then Weeps; whereat Helen, having laughed, weeps too, And the other chides her, and she being chid speaks nought, But cheeks and lips and eyelids kisses her, Laughing; so fare they, as in their bloomless bud And full of unblown life, the blood of gods.
Sweet days befall them and good loves and lords, And tender and temperate honours of the hearth, Peace, and a perfect life and blameless bed. But who shows next an eagle wrought in gold? That flames and beats broad wings against the sun And with void mouth gapes after emptier prey?