C

Once more the rain on the mountain, Once more the wind in the valley, With the soft odours of springtime And the long breath of remembrance,

O Lityerses! Warm is the sun in the city. On the street corners with laughter Traffic the flower-girls. Beauty

Blossoms once more for thy pleasure In many places. Gentlier now falls the twilight, With the slim moon in the pear-trees;

And the green frogs in the meadows Blow on shrill pipes to awaken Thee, Lityerses. Gladlier now crimson morning

Flushes fair-built Mitylene,— Portico, temple, and column,— Where the young garlanded women Praise thee with singing.

Ah, but what burden of sorrow Tinges their slow stately chorus, Though spring revisits the glad earth? Wilt thou not wake to their summons,

O Lityerses? Shall they then never behold thee,— Nevermore see thee returning Down the blue cleft of the mountains,

Nor in the purple of evening Welcome thy coming? Nevermore answer thy glowing Youth with their ardour, nor cherish

With lovely longing thy spirit, Nor with soft laughter beguile thee, O Lityerses? Heedless, assuaged, art thou sleeping

Where the spring sun cannot find thee, Nor the wind waken, nor woodlands Bloom for thy innocent rapture Through golden hours?

Hast thou no passion nor pity For thy deserted companions? Never again will thy beauty Quell their desire nor rekindle,

O Lityerses? Nay, but in vain their clear voices Call thee. Thy sensitive beauty Is become part of the fleeting

Loveliness, merged in the pathos Of all things mortal. In the faint fragrance of flowers, On the sweet draft of the sea-wind,

Linger strange hints now that loosen Tears for thy gay gentle spirit, O Lityerses!