Explore "Helena" by Ella Wheeler Wilcox on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Last night I saw Helena. She whose praise / Of late all men have sounded. She for whom / Young Angus rashly sought a silent tomb / Rather than live without her all his days.
Wise men go mad who look upon her long, / She is so ripe with dangers. Yet meanwhile / I find no fascination in her smile, / Although I make her theme of this poor song.