Helen's Handmaid

In equal wise by time's disaster broken,
Helen and her old handmaid both sat weaving,
And, with a world of memories unspoken,
The mistress fell into a silent grieving.
“What ails my lady?”—thus her handmaid to her…
“I'm mourning for the ill that I have seen.”
“'T is I should mourn because your eyes were bluer
Just by a trifle, than mine e'er have been.”
“What can a deeper richness in the eye,
A softer bloom upon the cheek betoken?”
“'T is but a trifling difference, but for me
It has meant dull and stretched vacuity,—
While all the trumpets of the world have spoken
For you, and banners have gone down the sky!”

Both dropped to silence, and both heaved a sigh!
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.