On the white bosom, 'tween the breasts br Of Helen Love has made his bower, br As in a sweet and secret tower br Where mid the world's decay he rests — br A bridegroom in his dream's desire br With the imperial bride whose brow br Is great with beauty now, br Whose eyes have the old fire br That in their passion's joy br Burnt to a cinder on the towers of Troy! br All youths and virgins may go there, br And thence their hearts as torches light, br Fragrant and fresh as new-born air br In the old world's serenest might — br May learn from Love and his warm mate br The secret of the tender tune br Of that long honeymoon, br That like the fire of Fate br Still in their passion's joy br Burns to a cinder on the towers of Troy!br br Robert Crawfordbr br