Some say
The most beautiful thing
Over the coal-black earth,
Is an army arrayed
With horses and armor.
Easy
It is to make this clear,
For Helen, far besting
All mortals in beauty,
Left the best of all men.
Passion
Drove her, sailing away,
Nor did she remember
Her parents or children
On her way to far Troy.
Now she
My Anactoria,
Has also gone away
[...]
My preference would be
To see
The supple way she walks
And her bright, sparkling face
Than armies of chariots
Or foot-soldiers in arms.