Classic Poem

That Lady, chiefest slave of Love her lord,
By Jove the Swan begot, and sister born
To the great Twins, whose beauty's rising morn
Roused up all Europe 'gainst the Asian horde,

One day unto her mirror spoke this word,
Seeing her face of all its graces shorn:
" With how great madness were my husbands torn
To seek such rotting flesh with royal sword!

" Ah! Gods, too jealous of our little day!
Fair women's youth flies once for all away,
Yet serpents cast their age each Spring, for years. " ...

So Helen spoke, and wept lost beauty's dower.
The story is for you. Pluck your youth's flower!
When April's gone, October bringeth tears.