Part 13

Whose quaint face peers green and dusky ’Mongst the matted growth of plants, While she rises wild and weltering, Speeding on with many pants.

Tangles of the wild red strawberry Spread their freckled trammels frail; In the pathway creeping brambles Catch her in their thorny trail.

All the widely sweeping greensward Shifts and swims from knoll to knoll; Grey rough-fingered oak and elm wood Push her by from bole to bole.

Groves of lemon, groves of citron, Tall high-foliaged plane and palm, Bloomy myrtle, light-blue olive, Wave her back with gusts of balm.

Languid jasmine, scrambling briony, Walls of close-festooning braid, Fling themselves about her, mingling With her wafted looks, waylaid.

Twisting bindweed, honey’d woodbine, Cling to her, while, red and blue, On her rounded form ripe berries Dash and die in gory dew.

Running ivies dark and lingering Round her light limbs drag and twine; Round her waist with languorous tendrils Reels and wreathes the juicy vine;

Reining in the flying creature With its arms about her mouth; Bursting all its mellowing bunches To seduce her husky drouth;

Crowning her with amorous clusters; Pouring down her sloping back Fresh-born wines in glittering rillets, Following her in crimson track.

Buried, drenched in dewy foliage, Thus she glimmers from the dawn, Watched by every forest creature, Fleet-foot Oread, frolic Faun.

Silver-sandalled Arethusa Not more swiftly fled the sands, Fled the plains and fled the sunlights, Fled the murmuring ocean strands.

O, that now the earth would open! O, that now the shades would hide! O, that now the gods would shelter! Caverns lead and seas divide!

Not more faint soft-lowing Io Panted in those starry eyes, When the sleepless midnight meadows Piteously implored the skies!

Still her breathless flight she urges By the sanctuary stream, And the god with golden swiftness Follows like an eastern beam.

Her the close bewildering greenery Darkens with its duskiest green,— Him each little leaflet welcomes, Flushing with an orient sheen.

Thus he nears, and now all Tempe Rings with his melodious cry, Avenues and blue expanses Beam in his large lustrous eye!

All the branches start to music! As if from a secret spring Thousands of sweet bills are bubbling In the nest and on the wing.

Gleams and shines the glassy river And rich valleys every one; But of all the throbbing beauty Brightest! singled by the sun!

Ivy round her glimmering ancle, Vine about her glowing brow, Never sure was bride so beauteous, Daphne, chosen nymph, as thou!

Thus he nears! and now she feels him Breathing hot on every limb; And he hears her own quick pantings— Ah! that they might be for him.

O, that like the flower he tramples, Bending from his golden tread, Full of fair celestial ardours, She would bow her bridal head.

O, that like the flower she presses, Nodding from her lily touch, Light as in the harmless breezes, She would know the god for such!

See! the golden arms are round her— To the air she grasps and clings! See! his glowing arms have wound her— To the sky she shrieks and springs!

See! the flushing chace of Tempe Trembles with Olympian air— See! green sprigs and buds are shooting From those white raised arms of prayer!

In the earth her feet are rooting!— Breasts and limbs and lifted eyes, Hair and lips and stretching fingers, Fade away—and fadeless rise.

And the god whose fervent rapture Clasps her finds his close embrace Full of palpitating branches, And new leaves that bud apace,

Bound his wonder-stricken forehead;— While in ebbing measures slow Sounds of softly dying pulses Pause and quiver, pause and go;

Go, and come again, and flutter On the verge of life,—then flee! All the white ambrosial beauty Is a lustrous Laurel Tree!