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Dante Gabriel Rossetti | Cassandra

Rend, rend thy hair, Cassandra: he will go.⁠⁠⁠

Yea, rend thy garments, wring thy hands, and cry
⁠From Troy still towered to the unreddened sky.
See, all but she that bore thee mock thy woe: -
He most whom that fair woman arms, with show
⁠Of wrath on her bent brows; for in this place
⁠This hour thou bad'st all men in Helen's face
The ravished ravishing prize of Death to know.

What eyes, what ears hath sweet Andromache,
⁠Save for her Hector's form and step; as tear
⁠⁠On tear make salt the warm last kiss he gave?
He goes. Cassandra's words beat heavily
⁠Like crows above his crest, and at his ear
⁠⁠Ring hollow in the shield that shall not save.


"O Hector, gone, gone, gone! O Hector, thee
⁠Two chariots wait, in Troy long bless'd and curs'd;
⁠And Grecian spear and Phrygian sand athirst
Crave from thy veins the blood of victory.
Lo! long upon our hearth the brand had we,
⁠Lit for the roof-tree's ruin: and to-day
⁠The ground-stone quits the wall, - the wind hath way.-
And higher and higher the wings of fire are free.

O Paris, Paris! O thou burning brand,
⁠Thou beacon of the sea whence Venus rose,
Lighting thy race to shipwreck! Even that hand
⁠Wherewith she took thine apple let her close
⁠Within thy curls at last, and while Troy glows
Lift thee her trophy to the sea and land".