PODAS OKUS 



'Twas the fraud of Priam's daughter, 



Not the force of Priam's son, 

 Slew me — ask not why I sought her, 



'Twas my doom — her work is done ! 

 Fairer far than she, and dearer 



By a thousand-fold thou art ; 

 Come, my own one, nestle nearer. 



Cheating death of half his smart. 



Slowly, while your amber tresses 



Shower down their golden rain. 

 Let me drink those last caresses, 



Never to be felt again ; 

 Yet th' Elysian halls are spacious, 



Somewhere near me, I may keep 

 Room — who knows ? — The gods are 

 gracious ; 



Lay me lower — let me sleep ! 



Lower yet, my senses wander, 

 And my spirit seems to roll 



With the tide of swift Scamander, 

 Rushing to a viewless goal. 



In my ears, like distant washing 



Of the surf upon the shore, 

 7 



