Then both her white arms round his neck she threw And sobbing said, "O love, what hurteth me? When first the sweetness of my life I knew, Not this I felt, but when I first saw thee A little pain and great felicity Rose up within me, and thy talk e'en now Made pain and pleasure ever greater grow?" "O sweet," he said, "this thing is even love, Whereof I told thee; that all wise men fear, But yet escape not; nay, to gods above, Unless the old tales lie, it draweth near. But let my happy ears I pray thee hear Thy story too, and how thy blessed birth Has made a heaven of this once lonely earth." "My sweet," she said, "as yet I am not wise, Or stored with words, aright the tale to tell, But listen: when I opened first mine eyes I stood within the niche thou knowest well, And from mine hand a heavy thing there fell Carved like these flowers, nor could I see things clear, And but a strange confusèd noise could hear. "At last mine eyes could see a woman fair, But awful as this round white moon o'erhead. So that I trembled when I saw her there, For with my life was born some touch of dread, And therewithal I heard her voice that said, 'Come down, and learn to love and be alive, For thee, a well-prized gift, to-day I give.' "Then on the floor I stepped, rejoicing much, Not knowing why, not knowing aught at all, Till she reached out her hand my breast to touch, And when her fingers thereupon did fall, Thought came unto my life, and therewithal I knew her for a goddess, and began To murmur in some tongue unknown to man. "And then indeed not in this guise was I, No sandals had I, and no saffron gown, But naked as thou knowest utterly, E'en as my limbs beneath thine hand had grown, And this fair perfumed robe then fell adown Over the goddess' feet and swept the ground, And round her loins a glittering belt was bound. "But when the stammering of my tongue she heard Upon my trembling lips her hand she laid, And spoke again, 'Nay, say not any word, All that thine heart would say I know unsaid, Who even now thine heart and voice have made; But listen rather, for thou knowest now What these words mean, and still wilt wiser grow. "'Thy body, lifeless till I gave it life, A certain man, my servant, well hath wrought I give thee to him as his love and wife, With all thy dowry of desire and thought, Since this his yearning heart hath ever sought; Now from my temple is he on the way, Deeming to find thee e'en as yesterday; "'Bide thou his coming by the bed-head there, And when thou seest him set his eyes upon Thine empty niche, and hear'st him cry for care, Then call him by his name, Pygmalion, And certainly thy lover hast thou won; But when he stands before thee silently, Say all these words that I shall teach to thee.'