Of burnt dead men the asphodel uprose

Like fleecy clouds flushed with the morning rose,

A holy pall to hide his folly and pain.

Thus upon earth hope fell like a new rain,

And by and by the pent folk within walls

Took heart and ploughed the glebe and from the stalls

Led out their kine to pasture. Goats and sheep

Cropt at their ease, and herd-boys now did keep

Watch, where before stood armèd sentinels;

And battle-grounds were musical with bells

Of feeding beasts. Afar, high-beacht, the ships

Loomed through the tender mist, their prows—like lips

[17]

Of thirsty birds which, lacking water, cry

Salvation out of Heaven—flung on high:

Which marking, Ilios deemed her worst of road

Was travelled, and held Paris for a God

Who winged the shaft that brought them all this peace.

He in their love went sunning, took his ease

In house and hall, at council or at feast,

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