from Women of Trachis
TORN between griefs, which grief shall I lament,
which first? Which last, in heavy argument?
One wretchedness to me in double load.
DEATH’S in the house,
and death comes by the road.
THAT WIND might bear away my grief and me,
Sprung from the hearth-stone, let it bear me away.
God’s son is dead,
that was so brave and strong,
And I am craven to behold such death
Swift on the eye,
Pain hard to uproot,
and this so vast
A splendour of ruin,
THAT NOW is here.
As Progne shrill upon the weeping air,
‘tis no great sound.
These strangers lift him home,
with shuffling feet, and love that keeps them still.
The great weight silent
for no man can say
If sleep but feign
or Death reign instantly.