After Troy

We flung against their gods,

invincible, clear hate;

we fought;

frantic, we flung the last

imperious, desperate shaft

and lost:

we knew the loss

before they ever guessed

fortune had tossed to them

her favour and her whim;

but how were we depressed?

we lost yet as we pressed

our spearsmen on their best,

we knew their line invincible

because there fell

on them no shiverings

of the white enchantress,

radiant Aphrodite’s spell:

we hurled our shafts of passion,

noblest hate,

and knew their cause was blest,

and knew their gods were nobler,

better taught in skill,

subtler with wit of thought,

yet had it been God’s will

that they not we should fall,

we know those fields had bled

with roses lesser red.