“Tori-tortue, what doest thou amongst us?--I wind the wool and the thread of Milet.--Alas! Alas! Why dost thou not dance?--I am very sorrowful. I am very sorrowful. “Tori-tortue, what doest thou amongst us?--I cut a reed for a funereal flute.--Alas! Alas! What has befallen him!--I will not tell. I will not tell. “Tori-tortue, what doest thou amongst us?--I press the olives for oil for the stèle.--Alas! Alas! And who, then, is dead?--Canst thou ask? Canst thou ask? “Tori-tortue, what doest thou amongst us?--He has fallen into the sea....--Alas! Alas! And how is that?--From the backs of white horses. From the backs of white horses.” VII THE PASSER-BY As I was seated in the evening before the door of the house, a young man passed by. He looked at me, I turned away my head. He spoke to me but I did not answer. He wished to approach me. I took a sickle from the wall and I would have cut open his cheek if he had advanced another step. Then, drawing back a little, he began to smile and breathed in his hand toward me, saying: “Receive the kiss.” And I cried! And I wept! So much so that my mother hastened to me. Alarmed, believing that I had been stung as though by a scorpion, I wept: “He embraced me.” My mother also embraced me and carried me away in her arms. VIII THE AWAKENING It is already light I should rise. But the drowsiness of morning is sweet and the warmth of my bed enfolds me closer. I long to remain lying so. Soon I will go to the stable. I will give the goats grass and flowers and a flask of fresh water drawn from the well where I will drink with them. Then I will fasten them to the post and milk their soft, warm udders; and if the kids are not jealous, I will suck with them from the supple teats. Amaltheia, has she not fed Dzeus? Therefore I will go. But not yet. The sun has risen too soon and my mother is not yet awake. IX THE RAIN The fine rain has fallen over all things, gently and in silence. It still rains a little. I will go out among the trees. My feet shall be naked, so that I will not soil my shoes. The rain of springtime is delicious. The branches, laden with moist flowers, have a perfume which bewilders me. One sees the sparkle of the sun on the delicate bark. Alas! how many flowers upon the ground! How pitiful, these flowers which have fallen. They should not be gathered and mixed with the mud but saved for the bees. The beetles and the snails traverse the path between the puddles of water; I would not tread upon them nor frighten the golden lizard which stretches out, blinking his eyelids. X THE FLOWERS Nymphs of the woods and fountains, sweetest of friends, I am here. Hide not, but come to my aid for I am burdened with many flowers.