For over his winged poet-craft and its feigning
Hath some strange glamour of majesty brooded;
And beguiled by his inspiration’s constraining
Through his realm of faery lost we stray.
Ah, the general throng of mortals aye
Are blinded of heart! Were their eyes not hooded
From discerning the truth, never Aias the strong,
For the armour wroth, as is told in song,
Had thrust through his heart the sword smooth-bright—
Aias, the mightiest man in fight,
Save Achilles, of all that to Ilium fared
By the west-wind wafted over the tide
With breath unswerving, to rescue the bride
Of Menelaus the golden-haired.