by Sammy Jay
That rosy fingered dawn of ancient times,
– When bold Achilles lived and killed and died,
And was and is remembered, – now rises
As Argive Helen charmed the world and drew
Forth the superlative from air and bound-
ing sea and bounding hills of fire – the top-
less towers! Ah how they felt the touch of that
Bright dawn of rosy fingered beauty which
Would be their ruin and their keenest joy.
She drew the hearts of men to jump themselves,
Burning to burst into blue vaulted vacancies
And yelp a cry of mystical desire,
Of hope, of love for each high mountaintop
Which swung a swathe of sweeping light
So beautiful it made the very sands
Upon the blooded strands flow of own
Mysterious accord, and whisper ‘yes’,
and dancing move into the moving sea.
But now the dawn is fingerless and dead,
The steel cold mind of man has plucked the rose,
And I must dream a dream of joy, and sigh
For those, who, dreamless, slumber in their beds.
Sammy Jay is a 1st Year English Student at Christ Church, Oxford, and is (wrongly) convinced that he is Shelley.