Is it, then, evening
So soon?  I see, the night-dews, 15
Cluster’d in thick beads, dim
The agate brooch-stones
On thy white shoulder;
The cool night-wind, too,
Blows through the portico, 20
Stirs thy hair, Goddess,
Waves thy white robe!

  Circe.  Whence art thou, sleeper?

The Youth.  When the white dawn first
Through the rough fir-planks 25
Of my hut, by the chestnuts,
Up at the valley-head,
Came breaking, Goddess! 
I sprang up, I threw round me
My dappled fawn-skin; 30
Passing out, from the wet turf,
Where they lay, by the hut door,
I snatch’d up my vine-crown, my fir-staff,
All drench’d in dew—­
Came swift down to join 35
The rout deg. early gather’d deg.36
In the town, round the temple,
Iacchus’ deg. white fane deg. deg.38
On yonder hill.

Quick I pass’d, following 40
The wood-cutters’ cart-track
Down the dark valley;—­I saw
On my left, through, the beeches,
Thy palace, Goddess,
Smokeless, empty! 45
Trembling, I enter’d; beheld
The court all silent,
The lions sleeping, deg. deg.47
On the altar this bowl. 
I drank, Goddess! 50
And sank down here, sleeping,
On the steps of thy portico.

Circe.  Foolish boy!  Why tremblest thou? 
Thou lovest it, then, my wine? 
Wouldst more of it?  See, how glows, 55
Through the delicate, flush’d marble,
The red, creaming liquor,
Strown with dark seeds! 
Drink, then!  I chide thee not,
Deny thee not my bowl. 60
Come, stretch forth thy hand, then—­so! 
Drink—­drink again!

The Youth.  Thanks, gracious one! 
Ah, the sweet fumes again! 
More soft, ah me, 65
More subtle-winding
Than Pan’s flute-music! deg. deg.67
Faint—­faint!  Ah me,
Again the sweet sleep!