So that a glory mild and radiant

Transfigured them. Upon him fell aslant

That lovely light, while in her cheeks the hue

Of throbbing dawn came sudden. So he knew

Her best before she spoke; for when she spoke

It was as if the nightingale should croak

In April midst the first young leaves, so bleak,

So harsh she schooled her throat, that it should speak

Dry matter and hard logic—as if she

Were careful lest self-pity urged a plea

Which was not hers to make; or as one faint

And desperate lays down all his argument

Like bricks upon a field, let who will make

A house of them; so drily Helen spake

With a flat voice. "Thou hadst been nine days gone,

Came my lord Alexandros, Priam's son,

And hailed me in the hall whereas I sat,

And claimed his guest-right, which not wondering at

I gave as fitting was. Then came the day

I was beguiled. What more is there to say?"

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