today as when that golden apple spurred
three goddesses of whom such paeans are sung
to squabble for a trifle so absurd.
The mooncalf brother Hector would berate
who tends the flocks, 'cause that's all that he can
is no way fitted to adjudicate
which one deserves the fondest praise of Man.
Blind Homer knows which goddess he would choose
whose cultured conversation keep him hot
to whom Athenians still offer dues
but Paris voted for the Cypriot.
Still Thetis grieves; Achilles' death still hurts
and Zeus won't leave off sniffing at her skirts.
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