things
  Fall off from life for love’s sake, and I live? 
  Surely some death is better than some life,
  Better one death for him and these and me
  For if the gods had slain them it may be
  I had endured it; if they had fallen by war
  Or by the nets and knives of privy death
  And by hired hands while sleeping, this thing too
  I had set my soul to suffer; or this hunt,
  Had this dispatched them, under tusk or tooth
  Torn, sanguine, trodden, broken; for all deaths
  Or honourable or with facile feet avenged
  And hands of swift gods following, all save this,
  Are bearable; but not for their sweet land
  Fighting, but not a sacrifice, lo these
  Dead, for I had not then shed all mine heart
  Out at mine eyes:  then either with good speed,
  Being just, I had slain their slayer atoningly,
  Or strewn with flowers their fire and on their tombs
  Hung crowns, and over them a song, and seen
  Their praise outflame their ashes:  for all men,
  All maidens, had come thither, and from pure lips
  Shed songs upon them, from heroic eyes
  Tears; and their death had been a deathless life;
  But now, by no man hired nor alien sword,
  By their own kindred are they fallen, in peace,
  After much peril, friendless among friends,
  By hateful hands they loved; and how shall mine
  Touch these returning red and not from war,
  These fatal from the vintage of men’s veins,
  Dead men my brethren? how shall these wash off
  No festal stains of undelightful wine,
  How mix the blood, my blood on them, with me,
  Holding mine hand? or how shall I say, son,
  That am no sister? but by night and day
  Shall we not sit and hate each other, and think
  Things hate-worthy? not live with shamefast eyes,
  Brow-beaten, treading soft with fearful feet,
  Each unupbraided, each without rebuke
  Convicted, and without a word reviled
  Each of another? and I shall let thee live
  And see thee strong and hear men for thy sake
  Praise me, but these thou wouldest not let live
  No man shall praise for ever? these shall lie
  Dead, unbeloved, unholpen, all through thee? 
  Sweet were they toward me living, and mine heart
  Desired them, but was then well satisfied,
  That now is as men hungered; and these dead
  I shall want always to the day I die. 
  For all things else and all men may renew;
  Yea, son for son the gods may give and take,
  But never a brother or sister any more.

  Chorus.

  Nay, for the son lies close about thine heart,
  Full of thy milk, warm from thy womb, and drains
  Life and the blood of life and all thy fruit,
  Eats thee and drinks thee as who breaks bread and eats,
  Treads wine and drinks, thyself, a sect of thee;
  And if he feed not, shall not thy flesh faint? 
  Or drink not, are not thy lips dead for