At daybreak when she lifted up her eyes, She looked around with heavy dull surprise, And rose to enter the fair golden place; But then remembering all her piteous case She turned away, lamenting very sore, And wandered down unto the river shore; There, at the head of a green pool and deep, She stood so long that she forgot to weep, And the wild things about the water-side From such a silent thing cared not to hide; The dace pushed 'gainst the stream, the dragon-fly, With its green-painted wing, went flickering by; The water-hen, the lustred kingfisher, Went on their ways and took no heed of her; The little reed birds never ceased to sing, And still the eddy, like a living thing, Broke into sudden gurgles at her feet. But 'midst these fair things, on that morning sweet, How could she, weary creature, find a place? She moved at last, and lifting up her face, Gathered her raiment up and cried, "Farewell, O fairest lord! and since I cannot dwell With thee in heaven, let me now hide my head In whatsoever dark place dwell the dead!" And with that word she leapt into the stream, But the kind river even yet did deem That she should live, and, with all gentle care, Cast her ashore within a meadow fair. Upon the other side, where Shepherd Pan Sat looking down upon the water wan, Goat-legged and merry, who called out, "Fair maid Why goest thou hurrying to the feeble shade Whence none return? Well do I know thy pain, For I am old, and have not lived in vain; Thou wilt forget all that within a while, And on some other happy youth wilt smile; And sure he must be dull indeed if he Forget not all things in his ecstasy At sight of such a wonder made for him, That in that clinging gown makes mine eyes swim, Old as I am: but to the god of Love Pray now, sweet child, for all things can he move." Weeping she passed him, but full reverently, And well she saw that she was not to die Till she had filled the measure of her woe. So through the meads she passed, half blind and slow, And on her sisters somewhat now she thought; And, pondering on the evil they had wrought, The veil fell from her, and she saw their guile. "Alas!" she said, "can death make folk so vile? What wonder that the gods are glorious then, Who cannot feel the hates and fears of men? Sisters, alas, for what ye used to be! Once did I think, whatso might hap to me, Still at the worst, within your arms to find A haven of pure love; then were ye kind, Then was your joy e'en as my very own-- And now, and now, if I can be alone That is my best: but that can never be, For your unkindness still shall stay with me When ye are dead--But thou, my love! my dear! Wert thou not kind?--I should have lost my fear Within a little--Yea, and e'en just now With angry godhead on thy lovely brow, Still thou wert kind--And art thou gone away For ever? I know not, but day by day