Narcissus

O thou with whom I dallied Through all the hours of noon,— Sweet water-boy, more pallid Than any watery moon; Above thy body turning White lily-buds were strewn: Alas, the silver morning, Alas, the golden noon!

Alas, the clouds of sorrow, The waters of despair! I sought thee on the morrow, And never found thee there. Since first I saw thee splendid, Since last I called thee fair, My happy ways have ended By waters of despair.

The pool that was thy dwelling I hardly knew again, So black it was, and swelling With bitter wind and rain. Amid the reeds I lingered Between desire and pain Till evening, rosy-fingered, Beckoned to night again.

Yet once when sudden quiet Had visited the skies, And stilled the stormy riot, I looked upon thine eyes. I saw they wept and trembled With glittering mysteries, But yellow clouds assembled Redarkening the skies.

O listless thou art lying In waters cool and sweet, While I, dumb brother, dying, Faint in the desert heat. Though thou dost love another, Still let my lips entreat: Men call me fair, O brother, And women honey-sweet.