And by the curved carved foot of the couch, claw-foot and lion head, an old man seated Speaking in the low drone: ... “Ityn! “Et ter flebiliter. Ityn, Ityn! “And she went toward the window and cast her down, “All the while, the while, swallows crying: “Ityn!” ““_It is Cabestan’s heart in the dish._” ““_It is Cabestan’s heart in the dish?_” ““_No other taste shall change this._” And she went toward the window, the slim white stone bar Making a double arch; Firm even fingers held to the firm pale stone; Swung for a moment, and the wind out of Rhodez Caught in the full of her sleeve. ... the swallows crying: “Ityn! Ityn!” Actaeon.... And a valley, The valley is thick with leaves, with leaves, the trees, The sunlight glitters, glitters a-top, Like a fish-scale roof, Like the church-roof in Poictiers If it were gold. Beneath it, beneath it Not a ray, not a slivver, not a spare disk of sunlight Flaking the black, soft water; Bathing the body of nymphs, of nymphs, and Diana, Nymphs, white-gathered about her, and the air, air, Shaking, air alight with the goddess fanning their hair in the dark, Lifting, lifting and waffing: Ivory dipping in silver, Shadow’d, o’ershadow’d Ivory dipping in silver, Not a splotch, not a lost shatter of sunlight. Then Actaeon: Vidal, Vidal. It is old Vidal speaking, stumbling along in the wood, Not a patch, not a lost shimmer of sunlight, the pale hair of the goddess. The dogs leap on Actaeon, “Hither, hither, Actaeon,” Spotted stag of the wood; Gold, gold, a sheaf of hair, Thick like a wheat swath, Blaze, blaze in the sun, The dogs leap on Actaeon. Stumbling, stumbling along in the wood, Muttering, muttering Ovid: “Pergusa ... pool ... pool ... Gargaphia, “Pool, pool of Salmacis.” The empty armour shakes as the cygnet moves. Thus the light rains, thus pours, _e lo soleils plovil_, The liquid, and rushing crystal whirls up the bright brown sand. Ply over ply, thin glitter of water; Brook film bearing white petals (“The pines of Takasago grow with pines of Isé”) “Behold the Tree of the Visages.” The forked tips flaming as if with lotus, Ply over ply The shallow eddying fluid beneath the knees of the gods.