Clyti

Hearken, O passers, what thing     Fortuned in Hellas. A maid,     Lissom and white as the roe,     Lived recess'd in a glade.     Clyti, Hamadryad,     She was called that I sing--     Flower so fair, so frail, that to bring her a woe,     Surely a pitiful thing!     A wild bright creature of trees,     Brooks, and the sun among leaves,     Clyti, grown to be maid:     Ah, she had eyes like the sea's     Iris of green and blue!     White as sea-foam her brows,     And her hair reedy and gold:     So she grew and waxt supple and fit to be spouse     In a king's palace of old.     All in a kirtle of green,     With her tangle of red-gold hair,     In the live heart of an oak,     Clyti, harbouring there,     Thrond there as a queen,     Clyti wondering woke:     Ah, child, what set thee too high for thy sweet demesne,     And who ponder'd the doleful stroke?     For the child that was maiden grown,     The queen of the forest places,     Clyti, Hamadryad,     Tired of the joy she had,     And the kingdom that was her own;     And tired of the quick wood-races,     And joy of herself in the pool when she wonder'd down,     And tired of her budded graces.     And the child lookt up to the Sun     And the burning track of his car     In the broad serene above her:     "O King Sun, be thou my lover,     For my beauty is just begun.     I am fresh and fair as a star;     Come, lie where the lilies are:     Behold, I am fair and dainty and white all over,     And I waste in the wood unknown!"     Rose-flusht, daring, she strain'd     Her young arms up, and she voiced     The wild desire of her heart.     The woodland heard her, the faun,     The satyr, and things that start,     Peering, heard her; the dove, crooning, complain'd     In the pine-tree by the lawn.     Only the runnel rejoiced     In his rushy hollow apart     To see her beauty flash up     White and red as the dawn.     Sorrow, ye passers-by,     The quick lift of her word,     The crimson blush of her pride!     Heard her the heavens' lord     In his flaming seat in the sky:     "Overbold of her years that will not be denied;     She would be the Sun-God's bride!"     His brow it was like the flat of a sword,     And levin the glance of his side.     And he bent unto her, and his mouth     Burnt her like coals of fire;     He gazed with passionate eyes,     Like flame that kindles and dries,     And his breath suckt hers as the white rage of the South     Draws life; his desire     Was like to a tiger's drouth.     What shall the slim maiden avail?     Alas, and alas for her youth!     Tremble, O maids, that would set     Your love-longing to the Sun!     For Clyti mourn, and take heed     How she loved her king and did bleed     Ere kissing had yet begun.     For lo! one shaft from his terrible eyes she met,     And it burnt to her soul, and anon     She paled, and the fever-fret     Did bite to her bones; and wan     She fell to rueing the deed.     Mark ye, maidens, and cower!     Lo, for an end of breath,     Clyti, hardy and frail,     Anguisht after her death.     For the Sun-flower droops and is pale     When her king hideth his power,     And ever draggeth the woe of her piteous tale,     As a woman that laboureth     Yet never reacheth the hour:     So Clyti yearns to the Sun, for her wraith     Moans in the bow'd sunflower.     Clyti, Hamadryad,     Called was she that I sing:     Flower so fair and frail that to work her this woe,     Surely a pitiful thing!     1894.