Page:Atalanta in Calydon - a tragedy (IA atalantaincalydo00swinrich).pdf/37

 As this my son was: such a birth God sent And such a grace to bear it. Then came in Three weaving women, and span each a thread, Saying This for strength and That for luck, and one Saying Till the brand upon the hearth burn down, So long shall this man see good days and live. And I with gathered raiment from the bed Sprang, and drew forth the brand, and cast on it Water, and trod the flame bare-foot, and crushed With naked hand spark beaten out of spark And blew against and quenched it; for I said, These are the most high Fates that dwell with us, And we find favour a little in their sight, A little, and more we miss of, and much time Foils us; howbeit they have pitied me, O son, And thee most piteous, thee a tenderer thing Than any flower of fleshly seed alive. Wherefore I kissed and hid him with my hands, And covered under arms and hair, and wept, And feared to touch him with my tears, and laughed; So light a thing was this man, grown so great Men cast their heads back, seeing against the sun Blaze the armed man carven on his shield, and hear The laughter of little bells along the brace Ring, as birds singing or flutes blown, and watch, High up, the cloven shadow of either plume