| |
| SHE sits within the white oak hall, | |
| Hung with the trophies of the chase— | |
| Helen, a stately maid and tall, | |
| Dark-haired and pale of face; | |
| With drooping lids and eyes that brood, | 5 |
| Sunk in the depths of some strange mood, | |
| She gazes in the fireplace, where | |
| The oozing pine logs snap and flare, | |
| Wafting the perfume of their native wood. | |
| |
| The wind is whining in the garth, | 10 |
| The leaves are at their dervish rounds, | |
| The flexile flames upon the hearth | |
| Hang out their tongues like panting hounds. | |
| The fire, I deem, she holds in thrall; | |
| Its red light fawns as she lets fall | 15 |
| Escaloped pine-cones, dried and brown, | |
| From loose, white hands, till up and down | |
| The colored shadows dye the dusky wall. | |
| |
| The tawny lamp flame tugs its wick; | |
| Upon the landing of the stair | 20 |
| The ancient clock is heard to tick | |
| In shadows dark as Helen’s hair; | |
| And by a gentle accolade | |
| A squire to languid silence made, | |
| I lean upon my palms, with eyes | 25 |
| O’er which a rack of fancy flies, | |
| While dreams like gorgeous sunsets flame and fade. | |
| |
| And as I muse on Helen’s face, | |
| Within the firelight’s ruddy shine, | |
| Its beauty takes an olden grace | 30 |
| Like hers whose fairness was divine; | |
| The dying embers leap, and, lo! | |
| Troy wavers vaguely all aglow, | |
| And in the north wind leashed without, | |
| I hear the conquering Argive’s shout; | 35 |
| And Helen feeds the flames as long ago! | |
| |
