EPILOGUE

Eleven years after the fall of Troy,
We, the old men - some of us nearly forty -
Met and talked on the sunny rampart
Over our wine, while the lizards scuttled
In dusty grass, and the crickets chirred.

Some blared their wounds;
Some spoke of the thirst, dry in the throat,
And the heart-beat, in the din of battle;
Some spoke of intolerable sufferings,
The brightness gone from their eyes
And the grey already thick in their hair
All had been Achilles.

And I sat a little apart
From the garrulous talk and old memories,
And I heard a boy of twenty
Say petulantly to a girl, seizing her arm:
"Oh, come away; why do you stand there
Listening open-mouthed to the talk of old men?
Haven't you heard enough of Troy and Achilles?
Why should they bore us for ever
With an old quarrel and the names of dead men
We never knew, and dull forgotten battles?"

And he drew her away,
And she looked back and laughed
As he spoke more contempt of us,
Being now out of hearing.

And I thought of the graves by desolate Troy
And the beauty of many young men now dust,
And the long agony, and how useless it all was.
And the talk still clashed about me
Like the meeting of sword and sword.

And as they two moved further away
He put an arm about her, and kissed her;
And afterwards I heard their gay distant laughter.

And I looked at the hollow cheeks
And the weary eyes and the grey-streaked heads
Of the old men - nearly forty - about me;
And I too walked away
In an agony of helpless grief and pity.

To My Daughter on her 16th Birthday

(6th July 1954)

I was a poet once, but now no longer
The vivid words throng burning in my brain;
Age chills them all; but love for once is stronger,
And for your sake I feel them burn again.

Scarred from the battle, grim with hopes frustrated,
What can I bring your glorious youth but this
Last feeble murmur of a Muse belated,
My love, my anxious care, a father's kiss.

May all your days to come be gay with laughter,
May love be true, and all your friends sincere!
Whatever comes in all the years hereafter,
Be sweet, be brave! And there'll be naught to fear.

Richard Aldington