All Greece hates
the still eyes in the white face,
the lustre as of olives
where she stands,
and the white hands.
All Greece reviles
the wan face when she smiles,
hating it deeper still
when it grows wan and white,
remembering past enchantments
and past ills.
Greece sees, unmoved,
God’s daughter, born of love,
the beauty of cool feet
and slenderest knees,
could love indeed the maid,
only if she were laid,
white ash amid funeral cypresses.
— H.D.
Heavy.
It is! I’ve always been partial to poems that reference anything Troy related! This one in particular is one of my favorites because it is so succinct, and the foreshadowing in the first two stanzas does nothing to limit the impact of the turn at the end.
I’m glad you enjoyed it!
I like how it’s so specific, yet so universal. We all have our personal “Helen” and that’s what makes this poem hit so hard.
And I really like
“the lustre as of olives”.
It flows and stutters at the same time, and paints a vivid picture. I will definitely read more from this author!
