XIII.

Nay, Summer often found them by the fold
In these glad days, ere Paris was a king,
And oft the Autumn, in his car of gold,
Had pass'd them, merry at the vintaging:
And scarce they felt the breath of the white wing
Of Winter, in the cave where they would lie
On beds of heather by the fire, till Spring
Should crown them with her buds in passing by.

XIV.

For elbow-deep their flowery bed was strown
With fragrant leaves and with crush'd asphodel,
And sweetly still the shepherd-pipe made moan,
And many a tale of Love they had to tell, -
How Daphnis loved the strange, shy maiden well,
And how she loved him not, and how he died,
And oak-trees moan'd his dirge, and blossoms fell
Like tears from lindens by the water-side!

XV.

But colder, fleeter than the Winter's wing,
Time pass'd; and Paris changed, and now no more
OEnone heard him on the mountain sing,
Not now she met him in the forest hoar.
Nay, but she knew that on an alien shore