one by one.

So now of how she died shall I tell thee, and of what came to her in her
passing, lest thou thinkest so innocent a child had laid violent hands
upon her life, who only had met death through the breaking of her heart.

Here sat she on the mountain, and the wild things spoke of her in her
silence. The red weasel, the bee, and the bramble, and many others, moved
to watch her. Well have they known her in her young joyfulness; here had
she made the place she loved best--the high brow of the hill where she sat
as a child and watched--on the one side the far-off city and the white
towers that held the wonder-knight of her dreams. Here had she sat and
seen the gleam of his spear as he went with his hunters through the
valley; and here, too, had her mother come to tell her of her betrothal,
so she had nigh fainted in her happiness, in looking upon the white tower
that was to be her home.

Here had she learned the sweet language of the birds and flowers, and
they, too, had partaken of her joys; but of her sorrows they would not
understand, for our joys and our laughter, are they not as the singing of
the bird and the dancing of the fly, who weep only when they meet death?
In our griefs do we not stand alone, who have in our hearts the fierce
desires of love and all the tragedies of despair?

Now, as the young bride turned her slow feet up the mountain, down where
her glad feet had turned as a maid, she sat her there by the lake.

The little creatures she was wont to love and understand gathered about
her and wondered at her state.