Prologue To The Argive Women
(Odysseus before the House of Paris.)
OD. About this wicked house ten years
The strife 'twixt Troy and Greece has surged
Since rifling Paris, thief and traitor,
Drew all men to the hue and cry
Menelaus made after him ;
And me, Laertes' son, my lands
And wife and child forsook, he drew
Into the weary insatiable years
Of slaughter, man to man, and Doom
Long-gathered, palsying heart and heart,
And Valour pent in little room—
Ten years abrim, but in this tenth,
Now at the last, within this hour,
To drown the city and the sin
In one great well of blood, hence flooding
Where Paris keeps her his delight,
Soon to prove bane of Troy—and his.
His, for her heart is changed ; she now
Longs for her husband, for her child,
For Lacedaemon, where she was born
And wooed, and learned her shameful lore,
The which now loathing, him her teacher,
Him her sleek thief she scorns, being all
Virgin for him who loved her first,
Nor ever swerved through years denied ;
And he, at last in sight
Of his reward, kneels for the crown,
He for the crown, a crowned king,
Of his high heart and purpose.
Yet
Not he alone, nor Greece alone
Made war in this high quarrel. Nay,
The gods themselves flung into it
Their pomp and panoply of storm,
Terrors of sky and sea, great winds,
Thunder and blown fire, and flood tides
And irresistible surge of the main,
Some to uphold the Dardan house,
And some the wile of Kypris even
Whose sweet poison made Helen sinner ;
And some, as raving Ares, thus
Fulfill'd their natures, to whom men
Are as a tilth to weed, with spear
In visible hand, and battle shout
In terrible mouth ; and met in shock
Other celestial forms, and them
Highest of all and most to us—
Nearer to us for our more need—
Who cried upon the sin : faith broke,
Troth-plight made mockery, oath in vain,
Shameful things shameless done—and them
I serve, and with them plot the end
Of Troy and of the war.
So here
Enwombed in wood, we wait the yeaning
Of that great Horse, the which by wit
Athene-given Epeios made
And I conceived, hid up in arms,
The greatest of us and the best
Hidden here within the walls,
Within the heart of obdurate Troy,
Ready to issue forth,
Seize gates and open, that the tide
Even now girding at the walls
Surge in and cleanse the iniquity
Which to high Heaven has bared so long
A braggart blasphemous head.
But first
There is a deed for her to do,
Who by one wrong inuring wrong
Must now requite it, she alone
Before she can anoint the knees
Of her offended with her tears,
Before he dare to lift her up
To his fair bed and board ; for Zeus
Who set our world, set it in law
Which not himself can break. Ye men
Who live by labour, what ye sow
That ye shall eat, and what ye eat
That ye shall win again by sowing.
Therefore let Helen sow in tears
And reap her joy, and eat with rue
That which she shameful sowed. Thus she
I serve, the gray-eyed Goddess, bids,
And thus her messenger I await
Helen within the wicked house
In this last throw of Troy with Doom.
(He hides himself. The curtains part and
disclose the women's house in the House of
Paris. The play begins.)
poem by Maurice Hewlett
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Related quotes
Troy Town
HEAVENBORN Helen, Sparta's queen,
(O Troy Town!)
Had two breasts of heavenly sheen,
The sun and moon of the heart's desire:
All Love's lordship lay between.
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
Helen knelt at Venus' shrine,
(O Troy Town!)
Saying, “A little gift is mine,
A little gift for a heart's desire.
Hear me speak and make me a sign!
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
“Look, I bring thee a carven cup;
(O Troy Town!)
See it here as I hold it up,—
Shaped it is to the heart's desire,
Fit to fill when the gods would sup.
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
“It was moulded like my breast;
(O Troy Town!)
He that sees it may not rest,
Rest at all for his heart's desire.
O give ear to my heart's behest!
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
“See my breast, how like it is;
(O Troy Town!)
See it bare for the air to kiss!
Is the cup to thy heart's desire?
O for the breast, O make it his!
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
“Yea, for my bosom here I sue;
(O Troy Town!)
Thou must give it where 'tis due,
Give it there to the heart's desire.
Whom do I give my bosom to?
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
“Each twin breast is an apple sweet.
(O Troy Town!)
Once an apple stirred the beat
Of thy heart with the heart's desire:—
Say, who brought it then to thy feet?
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
“They that claimed it then were three:
(O Troy Town!)
For thy sake two hearts did he
Make forlorn of the heart's desire.
Do for him as he did for thee!
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
“Mine are apples grown to the south,
(O Troy Town!)
Grown to taste in the days of drouth,
Taste and waste to the heart's desire:
Mine are apples meet for his mouth.”
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
Venus looked on Helen's gift,
(O Troy Town!)
Looked and smiled with subtle drift,
Saw the work of her heart's desire:—
“There thou kneel'st for Love to lift!”
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
Venus looked in Helen's face,
(O Troy Town!)
Knew far off an hour and place,
And fire lit from the heart's desire;
Laughed and said, “Thy gift hath grace!”
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
Cupid looked on Helen's breast,
(O Troy Town!)
Saw the heart within its nest,
Saw the flame of the heart's desire,—
Marked his arrow's burning crest.
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
Cupid took another dart,
(O Troy Town!)
Fledged it for another heart,
Winged the shaft with the heart's desire,
Drew the string and said, “Depart!”
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
Paris turned upon his bed,
(O Troy Town!)
Turned upon his bed and said,
Dead at heart with the heart's desire—
“Oh to clasp her golden head!”
(O Troy's down,
Tall Troy's on fire!)
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Helen of Troy
A mythological beauty, she had been;
A legendary beauty, she had grown.
Who is it other than Helen of Troy,
The epitome of seductive beauty?
A symbol of man’s erotic desires,
From the other women, Helen differs
In that she never employed her charms
To gain power of self-aggrandizement.
Her era dates back to fifth century B.C.
The fairest of women had been the one
Whom all women should hate and yet envy,
And all men should fear and yet desire.
No wonder, men were captive of her charm,
But not was she captive of any man..
She had admirers; none did she admire.
Her fairness deserved more than what she got.
A puppet she was in the heavenly battle,
Where Greek Gods and Goddesses had sported.
As such, she must be absolved of the taints
She was attached with, sadistically.
Helen was the daughter of Zeus and Leda,
The Greek God and Goddess. Born of an egg,
And brought up by a shepherd, she became
The prince of Sparta, a kingdom’f the Greek.
At her age ten, Helen was kidnapped
By an Athenian Hero for her charm
And was, however, brought back unscathed
By her brother; so famous she became.
At Helen’s wedding, numerous suitors
From far and wide came to claim her fair hand.
They were made to swear an oath to defend
The chosen husband in the event of
A rival attempting to abduct Helen,
The beauty who bred danger where she trod.
The oath assumed a greater importance
In the development of the Trojan War.
Helen was married to Menelaus,
A warrior, on his highest offerings.
On king’s death, he became the king of Sparta.
Helen bore a daughter; nine years rolled.
Paris, a Trojan Prince, came to Sparta
To marry Helen, whom he had been promised
By Aphrodite, after he had chosen her
As the fairest of all the goddesses
So that she could claim the golden apple
Thrown by the Goddess, Eris, from anger
Of not being invited by King Peleus
For his marriage to Sea Nymph Thetis.
Once Paris arrived in the house,
And Menelaus was fated to leave it,
Helen eloped with Paris to Trojan.
The war broke, all suitors participated
The war lasting for over nine years,
Helen lived these years as a willing captive,
More to the design of Aphrodite.
It is unfair to brand her as unfaithful..
The end of the war was brought about
Through the Trojan horse built and left ashore,
With their heroes hidden in it. The foes
Drew the horse into the fort for their fate.
The heroes sacked the city and captured
And caged the fairest queen to her shame.
The Greeks and the Trojans despised her alike.
No woman of her status could be that worst.
Menelaus was to slay his faithless wife.
As he raised his sword, , she dropped her robe
From her shoulders, revealing her assets.
It made him let the sword dropp from his hand.
Helen defied Aphrodite to remain
With Paris, who was soon to meet his death.
Her woes about her hasty decision
To leave Sparta and her spouse crippled her.
‘I will not serve his bed since the Trojan women
Hereafter would laugh at me, all, and my heart
Even now is confused with sorrow’
Helen lamented thus to Aphrodite.
Helen returned as the queen of Sparta.
Chastity, outraged, could be recovered;
Women are resilient, given a chance.
Helen is a proof for all men to note.
How Helen looked, no clues;
Yet her name has power
To inflame men’s heart, ho!
20.08.2008
[Aphrodite is Greek Goddess her counterpart is Venus.
Zeus is Greek God, his counterpart is Jupiter.]
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Reverse Is The Case
I shall make thee my Romeo and shall be thy Juliet
And nothing like Paris shall come in ‘twixt us this time
I will destroy thousands of young men named Paris
And unite both houses of Montague and Capulet with love
Then will have William Shakespeare write a play called 'reverse is the case'
Therefore thou shall be my Helen and I shall be thy Paris
For there will be no Agamemnon come between us amore
And I shall destroy thousands of Menelaus with Hector's sword
Wherefore will have Homer's epic Iliad altered for once
I shall be more fairer than fair Helen when she lived
Whose admired worth made Greece with ten years of wars afflict poor Troy
And shall launch ten thousands of admiration and love
With which ten thousand years men shall serve thee for thy daughters' sake
Then will have Hera and Athena themselves withdraw like the stars ashamed in
comparisonwith You, my Aphrodisiac beauty.
poem by Lightcheerful Briggs
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Menelaus and Helen
I
Hot through Troy's ruin Menelaus broke
To Priam's palace, sword in hand, to sate
On that adulterous whore a ten years' hate
And a king's honour. Through red death, and smoke,
And cries, and then by quieter ways he strode,
Till the still innermost chamber fronted him.
He swung his sword, and crashed into the dim
Luxurious bower, flaming like a god.
High sat white Helen, lonely and serene.
He had not remembered that she was so fair,
And that her neck curved down in such a way;
And he felt tired. He flung the sword away,
And kissed her feet, and knelt before her there,
The perfect Knight before the perfect Queen.
II
So far the poet. How should he behold
That journey home, the long connubial years?
He does not tell you how white Helen bears
Child on legitimate child, becomes a scold,
Haggard with virtue. Menelaus bold
Waxed garrulous, and sacked a hundred Troys
'Twixt noon and supper. And her golden voice
Got shrill as he grew deafer. And both were old.
Often he wonders why on earth he went
Troyward, or why poor Paris ever came.
Oft she weeps, gummy-eyed and impotent;
Her dry shanks twitch at Paris' mumbled name.
So Menelaus nagged; and Helen cried;
And Paris slept on by Scamander side.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Helen of Troy - Clerihew
Helen of Troy
In Paris, found her blue-eyed boy.
Short lived was her joy,
Greeks destroyed Troy.
poem by Khadim Hussain
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Epitaph on King Priam of Troy
Priam, the Trojan king
Lies in a great peace.
Lies he there
The city of Troy,
Where no more is joy.
Caused by Paris’s ploy,
Thought the city was a toy.
So brought the coil
And Troy, received it, as a spoil,
As the Greeks took the coil, away
And Troy, in ruins, alas.
poem by Deepta Protik Osman
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Helen of Greece - Clerihew
Helen of Greece
Felt like a trophy on a mantle piece
With lover Paris, set sail
For Troy, her land of fairytale.
poem by Khadim Hussain
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You Are My Helen Of Troy
Although at times, Like Paris of old, I may be arrogant- Like a small boy-
I know its you I love- My Helen of Troy!
From across the vast sea of my love, I stole your heart.
But, There are those who wish to tear us apart-
Its as if a war has begun to start-
But, We are protected by the gods of love,
From the heavens above-
And none shall EVER destroy the walls of our love-
Nor shall they EVER be breached, By any wooden horse-
Or EVER, By any force!
poem by Philip Alarie
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They Are Tearing Down My Grandfather's House
(An NLP Editor's Choice Award Winner in Verdant Lands of Spring) They are tearing down my Grandfather's house,
it's made of wood and brick and stone.
The windows they've removed. To them it's real
estate, to me it's my heart being ripped in two.
The realtors, the bankers, the moneymen don't understand.
A house is more than made of wood, a house is made of man. My Grandfather's house is a memory that will
endure after it's torn down.
He's been gone for near thirty years, but his
house had lived on.
I know the world is made of change, and change
is all that's real. But one thing I cannot change,
that is the way I feel. I wipe a tear in the falling rain,
because they are tearing down my Grandfather's
house, and it gives me pain.
I love him as if it were yesteryear,
his wit and smile as warm as the sun.
The house once stood to remind me, but that too
is gone. They are tearing down my Grandfather's house,
it's made of wood and brick and stone.
Yet a house if more than made of wood,
a house is made of love.
poem by David A. Webb
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Cassandra
I
REND, rend thine hair, Cassandra: he will go.
Yea, rend thy garments, wring thine hands, and cry
From Troy still towered to the unreddened sky.
See, all but she that bore thee mock thy woe:—
He most whom that fair woman arms, with show
Of wrath on her bent brows; for in this place
This hour thou bad'st all men in Helen's face
The ravished ravishing prize of Death to know.
What eyes, what ears hath sweet Andromache,
Save for her Hector's form and step; as tear
On tear make salt the warm last kiss he gave?
He goes. Cassandra's words beat heavily
Like crows above his crest, and at his ear
Ring hollow in the shield that shall not save.
II
“O HECTOR, gone, gone, gone! O Hector, thee
Two chariots wait, in Troy long bless'd and curs'd;
And Grecian spear and Phrygian sand athirst
Crave from thy veins the blood of victory.
Lo! long upon our hearth the brand had we,
Lit for the roof-tree's ruin: and to-day
The ground-stone quits the wall,—the wind hath way,—
And higher and higher the wings of fire are free.
“O Paris, Paris! O thou burning brand,
Thou beacon of the sea whence Venus rose,
Lighting thy race to shipwreck! Even that hand
Wherewith she took thine apple let her close
Within thy curls at last, and while Troy glows
Lift thee her trophy to the sea and land.”
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Fall of Troy
Learnt from Chapman's Homer*
A story full of grace and glamour
Killings of Royals, warriors and multitude
Fall of Troy is
A melodrama of ancient attitude
Sans Merci, sans certitude
War that was waged in heaven
Amongst deities of love wedding and wisdom**
To be crowned as fairest of heavenly kingdom,
Poor Prince from Trojan race
Chose to settle that celestial FACE
Ah! This sin of Paris was un-forgiven
***Brought thousands ships towards Trojan haven.
The wall of Troy
Besieged by savage and sages
For term of ten years ages
Prince Hector the decent, daredevil
Embraced Achilles` wrath and kissed the peril.
Days and nights, round the clock
Trojans, Achaeans clashed like a giant rocks
Hector, Aeneas, Paris, Agenor and Sarpedon****
Achilles, Odysseus, Ajax, Patroclus and Agamemnon*****
For worthless love and fairy******
Troy lost her grace and glory
poem by Gulsher john
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When You treat Me like that
My sweet heart cried out her heart
She said I break her heart
When I treat her like that
She said I made her sad when she caught me on the act
I never knew I could break a heart
Not that of my sweet heart
Now she is parking out of my house.
What can a man do to mend
A broken heart?
I am now alone, all alone in my empty
House, and my empty heart
Or should i say, my broken heart.
It is difficult, very difficult to live
Without her in my heart and my house
These days I drink, day in, day out
I try to forget my sweet heart,
But when I'm sober, there she is, right here in my heart
Her last words to me, 'You break my heart when you treat me lile that, I cant live like that'
She parked and left my house
Now here I am drinking my life out
Here I am crying my heart out.
my sweet heart has broken my heart
When she treat me like that.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Love's Bower.
On the white bosom, 'tween the breasts
Of Helen Love has made his bower,
As in a sweet and secret tower
Where mid the world's decay he rests —
A bridegroom in his dream's desire
With the imperial bride whose brow
Is great with beauty now,
Whose eyes have the old fire
That in their passion's joy
Burnt to a cinder on the towers of Troy!
All youths and virgins may go there,
And thence their hearts as torches light,
Fragrant and fresh as new-born air
In the old world's serenest might —
May learn from Love and his warm mate
The secret of the tender tune
Of that long honeymoon,
That like the fire of Fate
Still in their passion's joy
Burns to a cinder on the towers of Troy!
poem by Robert Crawford
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My Stories Of You (chapter eleven)
The whales are fishing our hearts, from the other side of the world
proof that the giants were missing something important
as we all do.
It's almost like the battle of Troy,
heroes killing one another on the Plains of Love,
for the chance that maybe
maybe
you love them too.
And you are white and freckled, as the creatures on the moon,
that dance with the sun in his great eclipses.
You're a miracle of a girl,
beyond the beauty of Cleopatra or Helen of the Troy.
Even the great Babylon lost, in it's bet to reach you, so
how can you expect me
to remain untouched
by this impossible love of yours.
Grilling my heart in hell, at the cost of your love,
I break all the bottles,
and let the sins come out once again.
Mouth full of love, I take all I can get
before you'll refuse my kisses forever.
This land of brave words,
and eleventh part of a love,
is not even close to a masterpiece,
but it is the way I love you.
INSANELY
poem by Serban Raducu Bogdan
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The Houses
1898 -- A Song of the Dominions
'Twixt my house and thy house the pathway is broad,
In thy house or my house is half the world's hoard;
By my house and thy house hangs all the world's fate,
On thy house and my house lies half the world's hate.
For my house and thy house no help shall we find
Save thy house and my house -- kin cleaving to kind;
If my house be taken, thine tumbleth anon.
If thy house be forfeit, mine followeth soon.
'Twixt my house and thy house what talk can there be
Of headship or lordship, or service or fee?
Since my house to thy house no greater can send
Than thy house to my house -- friend comforting friend;
And thy house to my house no meaner can bring
Than my house to thy house -- King counselling King.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Achilles at Troy
The walls of the enemy city believed by them
to be made by the gods,
rise up in front of us
stripped, empty like hills,
looking impregnable
and higher up I see some archers
with their armour shining in the midday heat
rising bows and shooting arrows into the sky
believing, wishing and praying to hit one of us.
I drive with my chariot far out of their reach,
around and around the city, as if inspecting it
for any frailty, a place to penetrate with force
searching for Hector
while fierce fighting is going on
and anger, great rage roars within my heart
when at the main gate I stop and wait,
before roaring at the top of my voice
for Hector to come out, to face me.
My black steel shield, my black steel armour
my great spear, my bow and sword
are at the ready and I am implacable
watching, willing for the main gate to open
and see a lizard basking in the sun on a nearby rock,
as it probably has done since being born,
my heart is torn by the death
of my familiar one,
Patroclus my companion and friend
and in pain I roar again
calling Hector a coward and a fool
and my small army
of brave Myrmidons gather around me
heading of the enemy, killing scores of them
banging their swords on their shields
every time I call the name out
of the Champion of Troy
and like me they are ready to destroy.
Again I give reigns to the horses
driving at speed with my chariot
around the city inspecting
the fighting men more carefully
and nowhere I can see Hector,
nowhere I find him destroying our own
and on the third time
I spot him taking on three men
and killing them
and at speed jump from the chariot
with spear, sword and shield
and like a thunder falling from the sky
I land solidly right next to him
and he wards of my first, my second blow
even stopping my great spear
thrown with all my might,
but in the frenzy of it all
I see an opening made by his shield
and dropping my shield
with both hands directly
drive my sword in, in a stabbing blow
and catch him in the throat
leaping back picking up my shield and spear
and stab, stab from behind the shield
killing Hector with fierce blows
and I gather my great sword
drawing it from him
and tie him behind my chariot
before fully armed
I jump into it
and drive away
dragging the Champion of Troy
around and around the great
impregnable city while roaring
loud as thunder
with a blood bedecked spear above my head.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Inscriptions for a Friend's House
THE HOUSE
The cornerstone in Truth is laid,
The guardian walls of Honour made,
The roof of Faith is built above,
The fire upon the hearth is Love:
Though rains descend and loud winds call,
This happy house shall never fall.
THE DOORSTEAD
The lintel low enough to keep out pomp and pride:
The threshold high enough to turn deceit aside:
The doorband strong enough from robbers to defend:
This door will open at a touch to welcome every friend.
THE HEARTHSTONE
When the logs are burning free,
Then the fire is full of glee:
When each heart gives out its best,
Then the talk is full of zest:
Light your fire and never fear,
Life was made for love and cheer.
THE SUN-DIAL
Time can never take
What Time did not give;
When my shadows have all passed,
You shall live.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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About Troy
1
Troy O Troy
an archeologist
will sift your ashes through his fingers
yet a fire occurred greater than that of the Iliad
for seven strings--
too few strings
one needs a chorus
a sea of laments
and thunder of mountains
rain of stone
--how to lead
people away from the ruins
how to lead
the chorus from poems--
thinks the faultless poet
respectably mute
as a pillar of salt
--The song will escape unharmed
It escaped
with flaming wing
into a pure sky
The moon rises over the ruins
Troy O Troy
The city is silent
The poet struggles with his own shadow
The poet cries like a bird in the void
The moon repeats its landscape
gentle metal in smoldering ash
2
They walked along ravines of former streets
as if on a red sea of cinders
and wind lifted the red dust
faithfully painted the sunset of the city
They walked along ravines of former streets
they breathed on the frozen dawn in vain
they said: long years will pass
before the first house stands here
they walked along ravines of former streets
they thought they would find some traces
a cripple plays
on a harmonica
about the braids of a willow
about a girl
the poet is silent
rain falls
poem by Zbigniew Herbert
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The face that launch'd a thousand ships
Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships,
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?
Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.
Her lips suck forth my soul: see where it flies!
Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again.
Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips,
And all is dross that is not Helena.
I will be Paris, and for love of thee,
Instead of Troy, shall Wittenberg be sack'd;
And I will combat with weak Menelaus,
And wear thy colours on my plumed crest;
Yea, I will wound Achilles in the heel,
And then return to Helen for a kiss.
O, thou art fairer than the evening air
Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars;
Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter
When he appear'd to hapless Semele;
More lovely than the monarch of the sky
In wanton Arethusa's azur'd arms;
And none but thou shalt be my paramour!
poem by Christopher Marlowe
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BkI:XV Nereus’ Prophecy of Troy
While Paris, the traitorous shepherd, her guest,
bore Helen over the waves, in a ship from Troy,
Nereus, the sea-god, checked the swift breeze
with an unwelcome calm, to tell
their harsh fate: ‘You’re taking a bird of ill-omen,
back home, whom the Greeks, new armed, will look for again,
having sworn to destroy the marriage your planning
and the empire of old Priam.
Ah, what sweated labour for men and for horses
draws near! What disaster you bring for the Trojan
people! Athene’s already prepared her helm,
breastplate, chariot, and fury.
Uselessly daring, through Venus’ protection,
you’ll comb your hair and pluck at the peace-loving lyre,
make the music for songs that please girls: uselessly
you’ll hide, in the depths of your room,
from the heavy spears, from the arrows of Cretan
reeds, and the noise of the battle, and swift-footed
Ajax quick to follow: yet, ah too late, you’ll bathe
your adulterous hair in the dust!
Have you thought of Ulysses, the bane of your race,
have you even considered Pylian Nestor?
Teucer of Salamis presses you fearlessly,
Sthenelus, skilful in warfare,
and if it’s a question of handling the horses
he’s no mean charioteer. And Meriones
you’ll know him too. See fierce Tydides, his father’s
braver, he’s raging to find you.
As the deer sees the wolf there, over the valley,
and forgets its pastures, a coward, you’ll flee him,
breathing hard, as you run, with your head thrown high,
not as you promised your mistress.
The anger of Achilles’ armies may delay
the day of destruction for Troy and its women:
but after so many winters the fires of Greece
will burn the Dardanian houses.’