PER. Can I learn thy hunter-step Without thy bare legs and well-buskin'd feet? AR. Give me thy hand. PER. Stay! stay! I have left my flowers. I follow. [_Exeunt Athena and Artemis._ [_Persephone returning to right slowly._ They understand not--Now, praise be to Zeus, 261 That, tho' I sprang not from his head, I know Something that Pallas knows not. [_She has come to where her basket lies. In stooping towards it she kneels to pluck a flower: and then comes to sit on a bank with the basket in hand on her knees, facing the audience._] Thou tiny flower! Art thou not wise? Who taught thee else, thou frail anemone, Thy starry notion, thy wind-wavering motion, Thy complex of chaste beauty, unimagin'd Till thou art seen?--And how so wisely, thou, Indifferent to the number of thy rays, 270 While others are so strict? This six-leaved tulip, --He would not risk a seventh for all his worth,-- He thought to attain unique magnificence By sheer simplicity--a pointed oval Bare on a stalk erect: and yet, grown old He will his young idea quite abandon, In his dishevel'd fury wantoning Beyond belief.... Some are four-leaved: this poppy Will have but four. He, like a hurried thief, Stuffs his rich silks into too small a bag-- 280 I think he watch'd a summer-butterfly Creep out all crumpled from his winter-case, Trusting the sun to smooth his tender tissue And sleek the velvet of his painted wings:-- And so doth he.--Between such different schemes, Such widely varied loveliness, how choose? Yet loving all, one should be most belov'd, Most intimately mine; to mortal men My emblem: tho' I never find in one The sum of all distinctions.--Rose were best: 290 But she is passion's darling, and unkind To handle--set her by.--Choosing for odour, The violet were mine--men call her modest, Because she hides, and when in company Lacks manner and the assertive style of worth:-- While this narcissus here scorns modesty, Will stand up what she is, tho' something prim: Her scent, a saturation of one tone, Like her plain symmetry, leaves nought to fancy:-- Whereas this iris,--she outvieth man's 300 Excellent artistry; elaboration Confounded with simplicity, till none Can tell which sprang of which. Coud I but find A scented iris, I should be content: Yet men would call me proud: Iris is Pride.-- To-day I'll favour thee, sweet violet; Thou canst live in my bosom. I'll not wrong thee Wearing thee in Olympus.--Help! help! Ay me!