A Grief Observed
Thrice Achilles grasped the phantom,
Thrice his hands passed through the shade.
Rage had made the oceans tremble,
Rage had slain the Trojan Prince.
But the day was done and over,
And Patróclus dead and gone.
Turned the pain to heavy sorrow,
Turned the hero to his camp.
Still he sat among the servants,
Still he longed to hold his friend.
Half his soul had gone to battle,
There, like thunder, fell in death.
What remained for Prince Achilles?
What could soothe his dire loss?
No more elder there to guide him,
No more friend to cheer his days.
Though his vengeance had been taken,
No mere mortal conquers death.
