And as her gentle breathing then I heard As though she slept, before the earliest bird Began his song, I wandered forth to seek Thee, O strange man, e'en as thou seest me, weak With all the torment of the night, and shamed With such a shame as never shall be named To aught but thee--Yea, yea, and why to thee Perchance this ends all thou wilt do for me?-- What then, and have I not a cure for that? Lo, yonder is a rock where I have sat Full many an hour while yet my life was life, With hopes of all the coming wonder rife. No sword hangs by my side, no god will turn This cloudless hazy blue to black, and burn My useless body with his lightning flash; But the white waves above my bones may wash, And when old chronicles our house shall name They may leave out the letters and the shame, That make Admetus, once a king of men-- And how could I be worse or better then?" As one who notes a curious instrument Working against the maker's own intent, The herdsman eyed his wan face silently, And smiling for a while, and then said he,-- "Admetus, thou, in spite of all I said, Hast drawn this evil thing upon thine head, Forgetting her who erewhile laid the curse Upon the maiden, so for fear of worse Go back again; for fair-limbed Artemis Now bars the sweet attainment of thy bliss; So taking heart, yet make no more delay But worship her upon this very day, Nor spare for aught, and of thy trouble make No semblance unto any for her sake; And thick upon the fair bride-chamber floor Strew dittany, and on each side the door Hang up such poppy-leaves as spring may yield; And for the rest, myself may be a shield Against her wrath--nay, be thou not too bold To ask me that which may not now be told. Yea, even what thou deemest, hide it deep Within thine heart, and let thy wonder sleep, For surely thou shalt one day know my name, When the time comes again that autumn's flame Is dying off the vine-boughs, overturned, Stripped of their wealth. But now let gifts be burned To her I told thee of, and in three days Shall I by many hard and rugged ways Have come to thee again to bring thee peace. Go, the sun rises and the shades decrease." Then, thoughtfully, Admetus gat him back, Nor did the altars of the Huntress lack The fattest of the flocks upon that day. But when night came, in arms Admetus lay Across the threshold of the bride-chamber, And nought amiss that night he noted there, But durst not enter, though about the door Young poppy-leaves were twined, and on the floor, Not flowered as yet with downy leaves and grey, Fresh dittany beloved of wild goats lay. But when the whole three days and nights were done, The herdsman came with rising of the sun, And said, "Admetus, now rejoice again, Thy prayers and offerings have not been in vain, And thou at last mayst come unto thy bliss; And if thou askest for a sign of this,