I <br /> <br />REND, rend thine hair, Cassandra: he will go. <br />Yea, rend thy garments, wring thine hands, and cry <br />From Troy still towered to the unreddened sky. <br />See, all but she that bore thee mock thy woe:— <br />He most whom that fair woman arms, with show <br />Of wrath on her bent brows; for in this place <br />This hour thou bad'st all men in Helen's face <br />The ravished ravishing prize of Death to know. <br />What eyes, what ears hath sweet Andromache, <br />Save for her Hector's form and step; as tear <br />On tear make salt the warm last kiss he gave? <br />He goes. Cassandra's words beat heavily <br />Like crows above his crest, and at his ear <br />Ring hollow in the shield that shall not save. <br /> <br />II <br /> <br />“O HECTOR, gone, gone, gone! O Hector, thee <br />Two chariots wait, in Troy long bless'd and curs'd; <br />And Grecian spear and Phrygian sand athirst <br />Crave from thy veins the blood of victory. <br />Lo! long upon our hearth the brand had we, <br />Lit for the roof-tree's ruin: and to-day <br />The ground-stone quits the wall,—the wind hath way,— <br />And higher and higher the wings of fire are free. <br />“O Paris, Paris! O thou burning brand, <br />Thou beacon of the sea whence Venus rose, <br />Lighting thy race to shipwreck! Even that hand <br />Wherewith she took thine apple let her close <br />Within thy curls at last, and while Troy glows <br />Lift thee her trophy to the sea and land.”<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cassandra-10/
