Born of the simmering quiet, there to die. Emerging whence, Apollo still, he spied Mighty descents of forest; multiplied Tuft on tuft, here, the frolic myrtle-trees, There gendered the grave maple stocks at ease, And, proud of its observer, straight the wood Tried old surprises on him; black it stood A sudden barrier ('t was a cloud passed o'er) So dead and dense, the tiniest brute no more Must pass; yet presently (the cloud dispatched) Each clump, behold, was glistening detached A shrub, oak-boles shrunk into ilex-stems! Yet could not he denounce the stratagems He saw thro', till, hours thence, aloft would hang White summer-lightnings; as it sank and sprang To measure, that whole palpitating breast Of heaven, 't was Apollo, nature prest At eve to worship. Time stole: by degrees The Pythons perish off; his votaries Sink to respectful distance; songs redeem Their pains, but briefer; their dismissals seem Emphatic; only girls are very slow To disappear--his Delians! Some that glow O' the instant, more with earlier loves to wrench Away, reserves to quell, disdains to quench; Alike in one material circumstance-- All soon or late adore Apollo! Glance The bevy through, divine Apollo's choice, [Sidenote: And Apollo must one day find Daphne.] His Daphne! "We secure Count Richard's voice In Este's counsels, good for Este's ends As our Taurello," say his faded friends, "By granting him our Palma!"--the sole child, They mean, of Agnes Este who beguiled Ecelin, years before this Adelaide Wedded and turned him wicked: "but the maid Rejects his suit," those sleepy women boast. She, scorning all beside, deserves the most Sordello: so, conspicuous in his world Of dreams sat Palma. How the tresses curled Into a sumptuous swell of gold and wound About her like a glory! even the ground Was bright as with spilt sunbeams; breathe not, breathe Not!--poised, see, one leg doubled underneath, Its small foot buried in the dimpling snow, Rests, but the other, listlessly below, O'er the couch-side swings feeling for cool air, The vein-streaks swollen a richer violet where The languid blood lies heavily; yet calm On her slight prop, each flat and outspread palm, As but suspended in the act to rise By consciousness of beauty, whence her eyes [Sidenote: But when will this dream turn truth?] Turn with so frank a triumph, for she meets Apollo's gaze in the pine glooms. Time fleets: That 's worst! Because the pre-appointed age Approaches. Fate is tardy with the stage And crowd she promised. Lean he grows and pale, Though restlessly at rest. Hardly avail Fancies to soothe him. Time steals, yet alone He tarries here! The earnest smile is gone.