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Paris to Helen

I wandered in the land of Greece,
And naught but beauty did I see:
Yet all the beauty of the land
Is but as naught compared with thee.

Fair are the daughters of the isles,
Fair, too, the isles amidst the sea,
For all the fairness of the isles
I would not part, my Queen, with thee.

The sons of Greece are more than men?
Are tall, and strong, as gods must be:
Yet none might fitly be the lord,
For ne'er was goddess like to thee.

The lordly mountains, deck'd with clouds,
The peaceful vales of Arcady,
Olympus, dwelling of the gods?
What are all these, my Love, to thee?

The gleaming brooks of Hellas wind
In rocky course with boisterous glee;
Her seas are fair, her skies are blue?
But Nature must give place to thee.

What though our sweet-voiced minstrels sing
Of Leda, or Penelope?
These are but beautiful until
The raptured eyes have look'd on thee.

Full sweet it is to love, and live
Enthralled by beauty's bondage free?
But who hath beauty like to thine,
Or how can love be, without thee?

Helen, the fairest gem of Greece,
So then wilt deign to smile on me,
I am content: so let me live,
And dying, let me die for thee.