I. The Search

“WHY dost thou hide from these Out along the hills halloaing? Why hast forbade Thy face, O goddess! to thy votaries?”

“Unasking and unknowing Is he whom I make glad, Like Dian grandly going To the sleeping shepherd-lad. Men that pursue learn not To follow is my lot.”

“Happiness, secret one, Heartbeat of the April weather, Where art thou found? Tell; lest I err too, yonder in the sun.”

“Call in thine eye from ether, Thy feet from far ground; Seek Honor in this heather, With austere purples wound. Serve her: she will reveal Me, hound-like, at thy heel.”