No, I am not rich; nor of noble birth, And yet I spend no tears on this paucity of fortune, For even the finest jewels in all this land, The brightest pearls that grace this earth Are but trinketry aside this Helen, this woman Who owns my heart, whose loveliness Leaves Aglaia forlorn, this woman with such a hand, In whose comparison all whites are ink, Writing their own reproach, to whose soft seizure The cygnet’s down is harsh as spirit of sense, Hard as the palm of ploughman. No, give me not these gemstones, Radiant but false, but give me my Helen, In whose beauty lies all truth.
9 Item Items
Warning: Last items in stock!
No customer reviews for the moment.