I

On Enna's uplands, on a lea Between the mountains and the sea, Shadowed anon by wandering cloud, Or flickering wings of birds a-crowd,

And now all golden in the sun, See Koré, see her maidens run Hither and thither through those hours Of dawn among the wide-eyed flowers,

While gentian, crocus, asphodel ( With rosy star in each white bell ), Anemone, blood-red with rings Of paler fire, that plant that swings

A crimson cluster in the wind They pluck, or sit anon to bind Of these earth-stars a coronet For their smooth-tresséd Queen, who yet

Strays with her darling interlaced, Hypsipyle the grave, the chaste — Her whose gray shadow-life with his Who singeth now for ever is.

She, little slim thing, Koré's mate, Child-faced, gray-eyed, of sober gait, Of burning mind and passion pent To image-making, ever went

Where wonned her Mistress; for those two By their hearts’ grace together grew, The one to need, the one to give ( As women must if they would live,

Who substance win by waste of self And only spend to hoard their pelf: “O heart, take all of mine!” “O heart, That which thou tak'st of thee is part —

No robbery therefore: mine is thine, Take then!” ): so she and Proserpine Intercommunion'd each bright day, And when night fell together lay

Cradled in arms, or cheek to cheek Whispered the darkness out. Thou meek And gentle vision! let me tell Thy beauties o'er I love so well:

Thy sweet low bosom's rise and fall, Pulsing thy heart's clear madrigal; Or how the blue beam from thine eyes Imageth all love's urgencies;

Thy lips’ frail fragrance, as of flowers Remembered in penurious hours Of winter-exile; of thy brow, Not written as thy breast of snow

With love's faint charact'ry, for his wing Leaves not the heart long! Last I sing Thy thin quick fingers, in whose pleaching Lieth all healing, all good teaching —

Wherewith, touching my discontent, I know how thou art eloquent! Remember'd joy, Hypsipyle! Now may that serve to comfort me,

While I, O Maiden dedicate, Seek voice for singing thy gray Fate! Now, as they went, one heart in two, Brusht to the knees by flowers, by dew

Anointed, by the wind caressed, By the light kissed on eyes and breast, ‘ Twas Koré talked; Hypsipyle Listened, with eyes far-set, for she

Of speech was frugal, voicing low And rare her heart's deep underflow — Content to lie, like fallow sweet For rain or sun to cherish it,

Or scattered seed substance to find In her deep-funded, quiet mind. And thus the Goddess: “Blest art thou, Hypsipyle, who canst not know

Until the hour strikes what must come To pass! But I foresee the doom And stay to meet it. Even here The place, and now the hour!” Then fear

Took her who spake so fearless, cold Threaded her thronging veins — behold! A hand on either shoulder stirs That slim, sweet body close to hers,

And need fires need till, lip with lip, They seal and sign their fellowship, While Koré, godhead all forgot, Clings whispering, “Child, leave me not

Whenas to darkness and the dead I go!” And clear the answer sped From warm mouth murmuring kiss and cheer, “Never I leave thee, O my dear!”

Thereafter stand they beatingly, Not speaking; and the hour draws nigh. And all the land shows passing fair, Fair the broad sea, the living air,

The misty mountain-sides, the lake Flecked blue and purple! To forsake These, and those bright flower-gatherers Scattered about this land of theirs,

That stoop or run, that kneel to pick, That cry each other to come quick And see new treasure, unseen yet! Remembered joy — ah, how forget!

But mark how all must come to pass As was foreknowledged. In the grass Whereas the Goddess and her mate Stood, one and other, prompt for fate —

Listless the first and heavy-eyed, Astrain the second — she espied That strange white flower, unseen before, With chalice pale, which thin stalk bore

And swung, as hanging by a hair, So fine it seemed afloat in air, Unlinkt and wafted for the feast Of some blest mystic, without priest

Or acolyte to tender it: Whereto the maid did stoop and fit Her hand about its silken cup To close it, that her mouth might sup

The honey-drop within. The bloom Saw Koré then, and knew her doom Foretold in it; and stood in trance Fixéd and still. No nigromance

Used she, but read the fate it bore In seedless womb and petals frore. Chill blew the wind, waiting stood She, Waiting her mate, Hypsipyle.

Then in clear sky the thunder tolled Sudden, and all the mountains rolled The dreadful summons round, and still Lay all the lands, only the rill

Made tinkling music. Once more drave Peal upon peal — and lo! a grave Yawned in the Earth, and gushing smoke Belched out, as driven, and hung, and broke

With sullen puff; like tongues the flame Leapt following. Thence Aïdoneus came, Swart-bearded king, with iron crown'd, In iron mailed, his chariot bound

About with iron, holding back Amain two steeds of glistering black And eyeballs white-rimmed fearfully, And nostrils red, and crests flying free;

Who held them pawing at the verge, Tossing their spume up, as the surge Flung high against some seaward bluff. Nothing he spake, or smooth or gruff,

But drave his errand, gazing down Upon the Maid, whose blown back gown Revealed her maiden. Still and proud Stood she among her nymphs, unbowed

Her comely head, undimmed her eye, Inseparate her lips and dry, Facing his challenge of her state, Neither denying, nor desperate,

Pleading no mercy, seeing none, Her wild heart masked in face of stone. But they, her bevy, clustered thick As huddled sheep, set their eyes quick,

And held each other, hand or waist, Paling or flushing as fear raced Thronging their veins — they knew not, they, The gathered fates that broke this day,

And all the land seemed passing fair To one who knew, and waited there. “Goddess and Maid,” then said the King, “Long have I sought this day should bring

An end of torment. Know me thou God postulant, with whom below A world awaits her queen, while here I seek and find one without peer;

Nor deem her heedless nor unschooled In what in Heaven is writ and ruled. Decreed of old my bride-right was, Decreed thy Mother's pain and loss,

Decreed thy loathing, and decreed That which thou shunnest to be thy need; For thou shalt love me, Lady, yet, Though little liking now, and fret

Of jealous care shall grave thy heart And draw thee back when time's to part — If fond Demeter have her will Against thine own.”

The Maid stood still And guarded watched, and her proud eyes’ Scrutiny bade his own advise Whether indeed their solemn stare

Saw Destiny and read it there Beyond her suitor, or within Her own heart heard the message ring. Awhile she gazed: her stern aspect,

Young and yet fraught with Godhead, checkt Both Him who claimed, and her who'd cling, And them who wondered. “O great King,” She said, and mournful was her crying

As when night-winds set pine-trees sighing, “King of the folk beyond the tide Of sleep, behold thy chosen bride Not shunning thee, nor seeking. Take

That which Gods neither mar nor make, But only They, the Three, who spin The threads which hem and mesh us in, Both Gods and men, till she who peers

The longest cuts them with her shears. Take, take, Aïdoneus, and take her, My fosterling.” Then He, “O star

Of Earth, O Beacon of my days, Light of my nights, whose beamy rays Shall pierce the foggy cerement Wherein my dead grope and lament

Beyond all loss the loss of light, Come! and be pleasant in my sight This thy beloved. Perchance she too Shall find a suitor come to woo;

For love men leave not with their bones — That is the soul's, and half atones And half makes bitterer their loss, Remembering what their fortune was.”

Trembling Hypsipyle uplift Her eyes towards the hills, where swift The shadows flew, but no more fleet Than often she with flying feet

And flying raiment, she with these Her mates, whom now estranged she sees — As if the shadow-world had spread About her now, and she was dead —

Her mates no more! cut off by fear From these two fearless ones. A tear Welled up and hovered, hung a gem Upon her eyelid's dusky hem,

As raindrops linkt and strung arow Broider with stars the winter bough. This was her requiem and farewell To them, thus rang she her own knell;

Nor more gave she, nor more asked they, But took and went the fairy way. For thus with unshed tears made blind Went she: thus go the fairy kind

Whither fate driveth; not as we Who fight with it, and deem us free Therefore, and after pine, or strain Against our prison bars in vain.

For to them Fate is Lord of Life And Death, and idle is a strife With such a master. They not know Life past, life coming, but life now;

Nor back look they to long, nor forth To hope, but sup the minute's worth With draught so quick and keen that each Moment gives more than we could reach

In all our term of three-score years, Whereof full score we give to fears Of losing them, and other score Dreaming how fill the twenty more.

Now is the hour, Bride of the Night! The chariot turns, the great steeds fight The rocky entry; flies the dust Behind the wheels at each fierce thrust

Of giant shoulder, at each lunge Of giant haunch. Down, down they plunge Into the dark, with rioting mane, And the earth's door shuts-to again.

Now fly, ye Oreads, strain your arms, Let eyes and hair voice your alarms — Hair blown back, mouths astretch for fear, Strained eyeballs — cry that Mother dear

Her daughter's rape; fly like the gale That down the valleys drives the hail In scurrying sheets, and lays the corn Flat, which when man of woman born

Seeth, he bows him to the grass, Whispering in hush, The Oreads pass. ( In shock he knows ye, and in mirth, Since he is kindred of that earth

Which bore ye in her secret stress, Images of her loveliness, To her dear paramour the Wind. ) Follow me now that car behind.