Venus’ arms have been reclaimed
upon the body of Helen,
but they are crow-pecked and bloody-framed,
serpent-bit and seeping venom.
Still I venerate them, marble-wrought,
though they be but stone to me,
and face me not, embrace me not,
caught in Paris’ treachery.
Free! Break free of the walls of Troy!
Leave the calls of the common men,
flee the mend of the hoi polloi,
return to the halls of heaven.
Don once more the golden bracelets
that adorned those ivory arms.
A copper crown, allow me place it,
but gilds your hair with sunrisen charm.
And aptly so for you are the dawn,
sunbeams wrapped about your breast.
Stand with me, as in times foregone;
abide with me: end this siren quest.