Helen’s shadow on Trojan rocks
still threatens the Greeks,
burdens them with the highest taxes
the loved exacts from the lover:
middle-class teashop warmth forsaken,
adding machines count the killed,
a scarce spring, a fruitless autumn,
quiet markets and barren cribs:
see the wretched pass for the mad,
the mad for the licentious
shadows creeping after the main
shadow over the town–
the feared outlines of the woman
washed clean of mercy,
memory of guilt reflecting
future centuries’ blood.