Phyllis McGinley, 'Dido of Tunisia'

[duathir.livejournal.com]

Cross-post from war_poetry:

Dido of Tunisia

I had heard of these things before--of chariots rumbling
Through desolate streets, of the battle cries and the danger,
And the flames rising up, and the walls of the houses crumbling.
It was told to me by a stranger.

But it was for love of the fair and long-robed Helen,
The stranger said (his name still troubles my sleep),
That they came to the windy town he used to dwell in,
Over the wine-dark deep.

In the hollow ships they came, though the cost was dear.
And the towers toppled, the heroes were slain without pity.
But whose white arms have beckoned these armies here
To trample my wasted city?

Ah, this, Aeneas, you did not tell me of:
That men might struggle and fall, and not for love.

By Phyllis McGinley

A Parable

[med_cat]

A Parable

From Songs of Action (1898).


The cheese-mites asked how the cheese got there,
And warmly debated the matter;
The Orthodox said that it came from the air,
And the Heretics said from the platter.
They argued it long and they argued it strong,
And I hear they are arguing now;
But of all the choice spirits who lived in the cheese,
Not one of them thought of a cow.

(Arthur Conan Doyle)