“O mother Ida, many-fountain’d Ida,
  Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 45
  I waited underneath the dawning hills,
  Aloft the mountain lawn was dewy-dark,
  And dewy-dark aloft the mountain pine: 
  Beautiful Paris, evil-hearted Paris,
  Leading a jet-black goat white-horn’d, white-hooved, 50
  Came up from reedy Simols all alone.

  “O mother Ida, harken ere I die. 
  Far-off the torrent call’d me from the cleft: 
  Far up the solitary morning smote
  The streaks of virgin snow.  With down-dropt eyes 55
  I sat alone:  white-breasted like a star
  Fronting the dawn he moved; a leopard skin
  Droop’d from his shoulder, but his sunny hair
  Cluster’d about his temples like a God’s;
  And his cheek brighten’d as the foam-bow brightens 60
  When the wind blows the foam, and all my heart
  Went forth to embrace him coming ere he came.

  “Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 
  He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm
  Disclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian gold, 65
  That smelt ambrosially, and while I look’d
  And listen’d, the full-flowing river of speech
  Came down upon my heart. 
  “’My own Oenone,
  Beautiful-brow’d Oenone, my own soul,
  Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind ingrav’n 70
  “For the most fair,” would seem to award it thine
  As lovelier than whatever Oread haunt
  The knolls of Ida, loveliest in all grace
  Of movement, and the charm of married brows.

  “Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 75
  He prest the blossom of his lips to mine,
  And added ’This was cast upon the board,
  When all the full-faced presence of the Gods
  Ranged in the halls of Peleus; whereupon
  Rose feud, with question unto whom ’twere due:  80
  But light-foot Iris brought it yester-eve,
  Delivering that to me, by common voice
  Elected umpire, Here comes to-day,
  Pallas and Aphrodite, claiming each
  This meed of fairest.  Thou, within the cave 85
  Behind yon whispering tuft of oldest pine,
  Mayst well behold them unbeheld, unheard
  Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of Gods.’

  “Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 
  It was the deep mid-noon:  one silvery cloud 90
  Had lost his way between the piney sides
  Of this long glen.  Then to the bower they came,
  Naked they came to that smooth-swarded bower,
  And at their feet the crocus brake like fire,
  Violet, amaracus, and asphodel, 95
  Lotos and lilies:  and a wind arose,
  And overhead the wandering ivy and vine,
  This way and that, in many a wild festoon
  Ran riot, garlanding the gnarled boughs
  With bunch and berry and flower thro’ and thro’. 100