At last asleep before her feet he lay, Worn out with passion, yet this burning pain Returned on him, when with the light of day He woke and wept before her feet again; Then of the fresh and new-born morning fain, Into his garden passed, and therefrom bore Fresh spoil of flowers his love to lay before. A little altar, with fine gold o'erlaid, Was in his house, that he a while ago At some great man's command had deftly made, And this he now must take and set below Her well-wrought feet, and there must red flame glow About sweet wood, and he must send her thence The odor of Arabian frankincense. Then as the smoke went up, he prayed and said, "Thou, image, hear'st me not, nor wilt thou speak, But I perchance shall know when I am dead, If this has been some goddess' sport, to seek A wretch, and in his heart infirm and weak To set her glorious image, so that he, Loving the form of immortality. "May make much laughter for the gods above: Hear me, and if my love misliketh thee Then take my life away, for I will love Till death unfeared at last shall come to me, And give me rest, if he of might may be To slay the love of that which cannot die, The heavenly beauty that can ne'er pass by." No word, indeed, the moveless image said, But with the sweet, grave eyes his hands had wrought Still gazed down on his bowed, imploring head; Yet his own words some solace to him brought, Gilding the net wherein his soul was caught With something like to hope, and all that day Some tender words he ever found to say; And still he felt as something heard him speak; Sometimes he praised her beauty, and sometimes Reproached her in a feeble voice and weak, And at the last drew forth a book of rhymes, Wherein were writ the tales of many climes, And read aloud the sweetness hid therein Of lovers' sorrows and their tangled sin. And when the sun went down, the frankincense Again upon the altar-flame he cast, That through the open window floating thence O'er the fresh odors of the garden passed; And so another day was gone at last, And he no more his lovelorn watch could keep, But now for utter weariness must sleep. But in the night he dreamed that she was gone, And, knowing that he dreamed, tried hard to wake, And could not, but, forsaken and alone, He seemed to weep as though his heart would break; And when the night her sleepy veil did take From off the world, waking, his tears he found Still wet upon the pillow all around. Then at the first, bewildered by those tears, He fell a-wondering wherefore he had wept, But suddenly remembering all his fears, Panting with terror, from the bed he leapt; But still its wonted place the image kept, Nor moved for all the joyful ecstasy Wherewith he blessed the day that showed it nigh.