| We have cried in our despair |
| That men desert, |
| For some trivial affair |
| Or noisy, insolent sport, |
| Beauty that we have won |
| From bitterest hours; |
| Yet we, had we walked within |
| Those topless towers |
| Where Helen walked with her boy, |
| Had given but as the rest |
| Of the men and women of Troy, |
| A word and a jest. |