Classic Poem

Upon the tower she stands and bends above
The wall that rims its edge; her shoulders droop
Beneath the jeweled web enfolding them,
Her elbow meets the stone, and in the hand,
Cup-like and ivory-fingered, rests her chin.
The lips just meet, her eyes unshadowed, calm,
Dwell on the sea where ride the Grecian ships,
Dwell on the sun-bronzed sea, whose waves touch Greece.
It seems she feels no bitter love, no care,
This quiet eve; the southern wind, whose wings
Are veiled dreams, had stolen all her thoughts;
She might have been just any Trojan maid,
Had she not been so fair!