He Lost, was Slaughtered, but Only He and She had Triumphed
Prince Paris was the winner. Every day
For years he woke up to his perfect love.
He knew where perfect love and beauty lay
Because she lay beside him. Far above
All other beauty and above the race
Of women, ordinary women, she
Lay there within his reach. Her perfect face
Was matched in every part that he could see,
And, more, he knew she wanted only him.
No other need he needed. Every man
Would kill and die for this. All else was dim
As death in heaven. Even gods could plan
No better utterness. All men must die
But he had thrust perfection, thigh on thigh.