Page:Atalanta in Calydon - a tragedy (IA atalantaincalydo00swinrich).pdf/124

 Thou wert glad above others, Yea, fair beyond word; Thou wert glad among mothers; For each man that heard Of thee, praise there was added unto thee, as wings to the feet of a bird.

Who shall give back Thy face of old years With travail made black, Grown grey among fears, Mother of sorrow, mother of cursing, mother of tears?

Though thou art as fire Fed with fuel in vain, My delight, my desire, Is more chaste than the rain, More pure than the dewfall, more holy than stars are that live without stain.