there was never such a spread of wings,
such a play of golden feathers,
though I did not see them,
I heard them, as I heard myself say,
O Thetis, O sea-mother;
Let me forget the other,
for to-day is to-day,
ringed and rayed with the word "beautiful";
how shall I answer him?
what is the answer to
Helena, which was the dream?
the rasp of a severed wheel,
the fury of steel upon steel,
the spark from a sword on a shield?
or the deathless spark
of Helena's wakening...
a touch in the dark?
H.D., Helen in Egypt, New Directions, s.d. (1961, 1ªed.)