Then came the morning offering, and the day, Midst flowers and words of love and kisses sweet, From morn, through noon, to evening passed away; And scarce unhappy, crouching at her feet, He saw the sun descend the sea to meet; And scarce unhappy through the darkness crept Unto his bed, and midst soft dreaming slept. [Illustration: B]ut the next morn, e'en while the incense-smoke At sun-rising curled round about her head, Sweet sound of songs the wonted quiet broke Down in the street, and he by something led, He knew not what, must leave his prayer unsaid, And through the freshness of the morn must see The folk who went with that sweet minstrelsy; Damsels and youths in wonderful attire, And in their midst upon a car of gold An image of the Mother of Desire, Wrought by his hands in days that seemed grown old, Though those sweet limbs a garment did enfold, Colored like flame, enwrought with precious things, Most fit to be the prize of striving kings. _The Hand Refrains_ [Illustration] Then he remembered that the manner was That fair-clad priests the lovely Queen should take Thrice in the year, and through the city pass, And with sweet songs the dreaming folk awake; And through the clouds a light there seemed to break When he remembered all the tales well told About her glorious, kindly deeds of old. So his unfinished prayer he finished not, But, kneeling, once more kissed the marble feet, And, while his heart with many thoughts waxed hot, He clad himself with fresh attire and meet For that bright service, and with blossoms sweet Entwined with tender leaves he crowned his head, And followed after as the goddess led. But long and vain unto him seemed the way Until they came unto her house again; Long years, the while they went about to lay The honey-hiding dwellers on the plain, The sweet companions of the yellowing grain Upon her golden altar; long and long Before, at end of their delicious song, They stripped her of her weed with reverent hands And showed the ivory limbs his hand had wrought; Yea, and too long e'en then ere those fair bands, Dispersing here and there, the shadow sought Of Indian spice-trees o'er the warm sea brought, And toward the splashing of the fountain turned, Mocked the noon sun that o'er the cloisters burned. But when the crowd of worshippers was gone, And through the golden dimness of the place The goddess' very servants paced alone, Or some lone damsel murmured of her case Apart from prying eyes, he turned his face Unto that image made with toil and care, In days when unto him it seemed most fair.