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O Love, O fire ! once he drew
Before he mounts the hill, I know
In my dry brain my spirit soon,
The wind sounds like a silver wire,
And, isled in sudden seas of light,
My whole soul waiting silently,
I will grow round him in his place,
THERE. lies a vale in Ida, lovelier
Hither came at noon
Floated her hair or seem'd to float in rest.
“O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida,
“O mother Ida, many-fountain’d Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. Hear me | Earth, hear me 0 Hills, O Caves That house the cold crown'd snake! O mountain brooks, I am the daughter of a River-God, Hear me, for I will speak, and build up all My sorrow with my song, as yonder walls Rose slowly to a music slowly breathed, A cloud that gather'd shape : for it may be That, while I speak of it, a little while My heart may wander from its deeper woe.
“O mother Ida, many-fountain’d Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. I waited underneath the dawning hills, Aloft the mountain lawn was dewy-dark, And dewy-dark aloft the mountain pine : Beautiful Paris, evil-hearted Paris, Leading a jet-black goat white-horn'd, white-hooved, Came up from reedy Simois all alone.
“O mother Ida, harken ere I die. Far-off the torrent call’d me from the cleft: Far up the solitary morning smote The streaks of virgin snow. With down-dropt eyes I sat alone : white-breasted like a star Fronting the dawn he moved ; a leopard skin Droop'd from his shoulder, but his sunny hair Cluster'd about his temples like a God's; And his cheek brighten'd as the foam-bow brightens When the wind blows the foam, and all my heart Went forth to embrace him coming ere he came.
“Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.
“My own Enone,
Beautiful-brow'd Enone, my own soul,
“Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. He prest the blossom of his lips to mine, And added “This was cast upon the board, When all the full-faced presence of the Gods Ranged in the halls of Peleus ; whereupon Rose feud, with question unto whom 'twere due : But light-foot Iris brought it yester-eve, Delivering, that to me, by common voice, Elected umpire, Herè comes to-day, Pallas and Aphrodite, claiming each' This meed of fairest. Thou, within the cave Behind yon whispering tuft of oldest pine, Mayst well behold them unbeheld, unheard Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of Gods.'
“Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die It was the deep midnoon : one silvery cloud Had lost his way between the piney sides Of this long glen. Then to the bower they came, Naked they came to that smooth-swarded bower, And at their feet the crocus orake like fire,