Andromache

When all else fled before our raging foe,

Your husband bravely stood before the gate

Unflinching in the face of bitter hate

Until the end, that final grievous blow.

Unbearable our pain! And e'en more so

The agony you feel, his steadfast mate

And mother of his progeny. How great

Your grief, which lays the strongest low!

And yet, behold! We see you bravely stand,

A fire so like his within your eyes!

His light shines on; you bear the torch undimmed

We'd hoped to never see pass from his hand.

With grace you speak as he did, bold and wise:

A comfort to our weeping eyes red-rimmed.