PER. Nay, and I guess your purpose with me well: 200 I am a child, and ye would nurse me up A pupil in your school. I know ye twain Of all the immortals are at one in this; Ye wage of cold disdain a bitter feud With Aphrodite, and ye fear for me, Lest she should draw me to her wanton way. Fear not: my party is taken. Hark! I'll tell What I have chosen, what mankind shall hold Devote and consecrate to me on earth: It is the flowers: but only among the flowers 210 Those that men love for beauty, scent, or hue, Having no other uses: I have found Demeter, my good mother, heeds them not.-- She loves vines, olives, orchards, 'the rich leas Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas,[1] But for the idle flowers she hath little care: She will resign them willingly. And think not, Thou wise Athena, I shall go unhonour'd, Or rank a meaner goddess unto man. His spirit setteth beauty before wisdom, 220 Pleasures above necessities, and thus He ever adoreth flowers. Nor this I guess Where rich men only and superfluous kings Around their palaces reform the land To terraces and level lawns, whereon Appointed slaves are told, to tend and feed Lilies and roses and all rarest plants Fetch'd from all lands; that they--these lordly men-- 'Twixt flaunting avenues and wafted odours May pace in indolence: this is their bliss; 230 This first they do: and after, it may be, Within their garden set their academe:-- But in the poorest villages, around The meanest cottage, where no other solace Comforts the eye, some simple gaiety Of flowers in tended garden is seen; some pinks, Tulips, or crocuses that edge the path; Where oft at eve the grateful labourer Sits in his jasmin'd porch, and takes the sun: And even the children, that half-naked go, 240 Have posies in their hands, and of themselves Will choose a queen in whom to honour Spring, Dancing before her garlanded with may. The cowslip makes them truant, they forget The hour of hunger and their homely feast So they may cull the delicate primrose, Sealing their birthright with the touch of beauty; With unconsider'd hecatombs assuring Their dim sense of immortal mystery.-- Yea, rich and poor, from cradle unto grave 250 All men shall love me, shall adore my name, And heap my everlasting shrine with flowers. ATH. Thou sayest rightly thou art a child. May Zeus Give thee a better province than thy thought. [_Music heard._ AR. Listen! The nymphs are dancing. Let us go! [_They move off._ Come, Cora; wilt thou learn a hunting dance? I'll teach thee.