LV.

Slow pass’d the fever’d hours, until the grey
Cold light was paling, and a sullen glow
Of livid yellow crown’d the dying day,
And brooded on the wastes of mournful snow.
Then Paris whisper’d faintly, "I must go
And face that wild wood-maiden of the hill;
For none but she can win from overthrow
Troy’s life, and mine that guards it, if she will."

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Chicago: Andrew Lang, "55," Helen of Troy, ed. Sutherland, Alexander, 1853-1902 and trans. Seaton, R. C. in Helen of Troy (New York: George E. Wood, ""Death-bed"" edition, 1892), Original Sources, accessed April 22, 2018, http://www.originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=CZ47K95RD4UY1TU.

MLA: Lang, Andrew. "55." Helen of Troy, edited by Sutherland, Alexander, 1853-1902, and translated by Seaton, R. C., in Helen of Troy, New York, George E. Wood, ""Death-bed"" edition, 1892, Original Sources. 22 Apr. 2018. www.originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=CZ47K95RD4UY1TU.

Harvard: Lang, A, '55' in Helen of Troy, ed. and trans. . cited in ""Death-bed"" edition, 1892, Helen of Troy, George E. Wood, New York. Original Sources, retrieved 22 April 2018, from http://www.originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=CZ47K95RD4UY1TU.