Classic Poem

His hand came from the east,
And in His wrist lay all eternity;
And every atom of His mythic weight
Was poised between His fist and bent left leg.
Your eyes lurched out. Achilles' helmet rang
Far and away beneath the cannon-bones of Trojan horses,
And you were footless . . . staggering . . . amazed . . .
Between the clumps of dying, dying yourself,
Dazed by the brilliance in your eyes,
The noise — like weirs heard far away —
Dabbling your astounded fingers
In the vomit on your chest.
And all the Trojans lay and stared at you;
Propped themselves up and stared at you;
Feeling themselves as blest as you felt cursed.
All of them lay and stared;
And one, a boy called Thackta, cast.
His javelin went through your calves,
Stitching your knees together, and you fell,
Not noticing the pain, and tried to crawl
Towards the Fleet, and — even now — feeling
For Thackta's ankle — ah! — and got it? No . . .
Not a boy's ankle that you got,
But Hector's.

Standing above you,
His bronze mask smiling down into your face,
Putting his spear through . . . ach, and saying:
" Why tears, Patroclus?
Did you hope to melt Troy down
And make our women fetch the ingots home?
I can imagine it!
You and your marvellous Achilles;
Him with an upright finger, saying:
Don't show your face again, Patroclus,
Unless it's red with Hector's blood."
And Patroclus,
Shaking the voice out of his body, says:
" Big mouth.
Remember it took three of you to kill me.
A God, a boy, and, last and least, a hero.
I can hear Death pronounce my name, and yet
Somehow it sounds like Hector .
And as I close my eyes I see Achilles' face
With Death's voice coming out of it."
Saying these things Patroclus died
And as his soul went through the sand
Hector withdrew his spear and said:
" Perhaps."