"O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. Hear me, O Earth; hear me, O Hills, O Caves 35 That house the cold crowned snake! O mountain brooks, I am the daughter of a River-God, Hear me, for I will speak, and build up all My sorrow with my song, as yonder walls Rose slowly to a music slowly breathed, 40 A cloud that gather'd shape: for it may be That, while I speak of it, a little while My heart may wander from its deeper woe. "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 45 I waited underneath the dawning hills, Aloft the mountain lawn was dewy-dark, And dewy-dark aloft the mountain pine: Beautiful Paris, evil-hearted Paris, Leading a jet-black goat white-horn'd, white-hooved, 50 Came up from reedy Simols all alone. "O mother Ida, harken ere I die. Far-off the torrent call'd me from the cleft: Far up the solitary morning smote The streaks of virgin snow. With down-dropt eyes 55 I sat alone: white-breasted like a star Fronting the dawn he moved; a leopard skin Droop'd from his shoulder, but his sunny hair Cluster'd about his temples like a God's; And his cheek brighten'd as the foam-bow brightens 60 When the wind blows the foam, and all my heart Went forth to embrace him coming ere he came. "Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm Disclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian gold, 65 That smelt ambrosially, and while I look'd And listen'd, the full-flowing river of speech Came down upon my heart. "'My own Oenone, Beautiful-brow'd Oenone, my own soul, Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind ingrav'n 70 "For the most fair," would seem to award it thine As lovelier than whatever Oread haunt The knolls of Ida, loveliest in all grace Of movement, and the charm of married brows. "Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 75 He prest the blossom of his lips to mine, And added 'This was cast upon the board, When all the full-faced presence of the Gods Ranged in the halls of Peleus; whereupon Rose feud, with question unto whom 'twere due: 80 But light-foot Iris brought it yester-eve, Delivering that to me, by common voice Elected umpire, Here comes to-day, Pallas and Aphrodite, claiming each This meed of fairest. Thou, within the cave 85 Behind yon whispering tuft of oldest pine, Mayst well behold them unbeheld, unheard Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of Gods.'