In dim leaves and hidden air,
  Pale as grass or latter flowers
  Or the wild vine’s wan wet rings
  Full of dew beneath the moon,
  And all day the nightingale
  Sleeps, and all night sings;
  There in cold remote recesses
  That nor alien eyes assail,
  Feet, nor imminence of wings,
  Nor a wind nor any tune,
  Thou, O queen and holiest,
  Flower the whitest of all things,
  With reluctant lengthening tresses
  And with sudden splendid breast
  Save of maidens unbeholden,
  There art wont to enter, there
  Thy divine swift limbs and golden. 
  Maiden growth of unbound hair,
  Bathed in waters white,
  Shine, and many a maid’s by thee
  In moist woodland or the hilly
  Flowerless brakes where wells abound
  Out of all men’s sight;
  Or in lower pools that see
  All their marges clothed all round
  With the innumerable lily,
  Whence the golden-girdled bee
  Flits through flowering rush to fret
  White or duskier violet,
  Fair as those that in far years
  With their buds left luminous
  And their little leaves made wet
  From the warmer dew of tears,
  Mother’s tears in extreme need,
  Hid the limbs of Iamus,
  Of thy brother’s seed;
  For his heart was piteous
  Toward him, even as thine heart now
  Pitiful toward us;
  Thine, O goddess, turning hither
  A benignant blameless brow;
  Seeing enough of evil done
  And lives withered as leaves wither
  In the blasting of the sun;
  Seeing enough of hunters dead,
  Ruin enough of all our year,
  Herds and harvests slain and shed,
  Herdsmen stricken many an one,
  Fruits and flocks consumed together,
  And great length of deadly days. 
  Yet with reverent lips and fear
  Turn we toward thee, turn and praise
  For this lightening of clear weather
  And prosperities begun. 
  For not seldom, when all air
  As bright water without breath
  Shines, and when men fear not, fate
  Without thunder unaware
  Breaks, and brings down death. 
  Joy with grief ye great gods give,
  Good with bad, and overbear
  All the pride of us that live,
  All the high estate,
  As ye long since overbore,
  As in old time long before,
  Many a strong man and a great,
  All that were. 
  But do thou, sweet, otherwise,
  Having heed of all our prayer,
  Taking note of all our sighs;
  We beseech thee by thy light,
  By thy bow, and thy sweet eyes,
  And the kingdom of the night,
  Be thou favourable and fair;
  By thine arrows and thy might
  And Orion overthrown;
  By the maiden thy delight,
  By the indissoluble zone
  And the sacred hair.

  Messenger.

  Maidens, if ye will sing now, shift your song,
  Bow down, cry, wail for pity; is this a time
  For singing? nay, for strewing of dust and ash,
  Rent raiment, and for bruising of the breast.