THE HOUSE OF BEAUTY

She pauseth; and as each great mirror swings

( O ruined Helen, O once golden hair )

I see OEnone's ashes scattered there.

Another, and, behold, the shadowed things

Are violated tombs of shrunken kings.

And yet another ( O, how thou wert fair! ),

And I see one, black-clad, who prayeth where

No sound of sword on cloven helmet rings.

Yet, were I Paris, once more should I see

Troy's seaward gates for us swung open wide.

Or old Nile's glory, were I Anthony.

Or, were I Launcelot, the garden-side

At Joyous Gard. Surely; for even to me,

Where Love hath lived hath Beauty never died.