Take thou this token; make good haste to rise, And get unto the garden-close that lies Below these windows sweet with greenery, And in the midst a marvel shalt thou see, Three white, black-hearted poppies blossoming, Though this is but the middle of the spring." Nor was it otherwise than he had said, And on that day with joy the twain were wed, And 'gan to lead a life of great delight; But the strange woeful history of that night, The monstrous car, the promise to the King, All these through weary hours of chiselling Were wrought in stone, and in Diana's wall Set up, a joy and witness unto all. But neither so would wingéd time abide, The changing year came round to autumn-tide, Until at last the day was fully come When the strange guest first reached Admetus' home. Then, when the sun was reddening to its end, He to Admetus' brazen porch did wend, Whom there he found feathering a poplar dart, Then said he, "King, the time has come to part. Come forth, for I have that to give thine ear No man upon the earth but thou must hear." Then rose the King, and with a troubled look His well-steeled spear within his hand he took, And by his herdsman silently he went As to a peakéd hill his steps he bent, Nor did the parting servant speak one word, As up they climbed, unto his silent lord, Till from the top he turned about his head From all the glory of the gold light, shed Upon the hill-top by the setting sun, For now indeed the day was well-nigh done, And all the eastern vale was grey and cold; But when Admetus he did now behold, Panting beside him from the steep ascent, One much-changed godlike look on him he bent. And said, "O mortal, listen, for I see Thou deemest somewhat of what is in me; Fear not! I love thee, even as I can Who cannot feel the woes and ways of man In spite of this my seeming, for indeed Now thou beholdest Jove's immortal seed, And what my name is I would tell thee now, If men who dwell upon the earth as thou Could hear the name and live; but on the earth. With strange melodious stories of my birth, Phoebus men call me, and Latona's son. "And now my servitude with thee is done, And I shall leave thee toiling on thine earth, This handful, that within its little girth Holds that which moves you so, O men that die; Behold, to-day thou hast felicity, But the times change, and I can see a day When all thine happiness shall fade away; And yet be merry, strive not with the end, Thou canst not change it; for the rest, a friend This year has won thee who shall never fail; But now indeed, for nought will it avail To say what I may have in store for thee, Of gifts that men desire; let these things be, And live thy life, till death itself shall come, And turn to nought the storehouse of thine home, Then think of me; these feathered shafts behold, That here have been the terror of the wold,