Helen, your body once youthful, pale and pure,
a goddess divine to a savage Messiah.
Ye ken?
To possess your beauty, the sinful loins
unworthy though wise 
ache with lustful desire.
Seductive, serene on a pedestal marble
I can hardly hope to approach that great height
yet, it lingers, the memory, adolescent.
Helen, your body once firm, smooth and lithe,
though frail the imagination,
a tender delight
frames the fantasy lust
that the decades survived.
Helen be mine.

Wytchewoode