have been
  Surely I know not; yet I charge thee, seeing
  I am dead already, love me not the less,
  Me, O my mother; I charge thee by these gods,
  My father’s, and that holier breast of thine,
  By these that see me dying, and that which nursed,
  Love me not less, thy first-born:  though grief come,
  Grief only, of me, and of all these great joy,
  And shall come always to thee; for thou knowest,
  O mother, O breasts that bare me, for ye know,
  O sweet head of my mother, sacred eyes,
  Ye know my soul albeit I sinned, ye know
  Albeit I kneel not neither touch thy knees,
  But with my lips I kneel, and with my heart
  I fall about thy feet and worship thee. 
  And ye farewell now, all my friends; and ye,
  Kinsmen, much younger and glorious more than I,
  Sons of my mother’s sister; and all farewell
  That were in Colchis with me, and bare down
  The waves and wars that met us:  and though times
  Change, and though now I be not anything,
  Forget not me among you, what I did
  In my good time; for even by all those days,
  Those days and this, and your own living souls,
  And by the light and luck of you that live,
  And by this miserable spoil, and me
  Dying, I beseech you, let my name not die. 
  But thou, dear, touch me with thy rose-like hands,
  And fasten up mine eyelids with thy mouth,
  A bitter kiss; and grasp me with thine arms,
  Printing with heavy lips my light waste flesh,
  Made light and thin by heavy-handed fate,
  And with thine holy maiden eyes drop dew,
  Drop tears for dew upon me who am dead,
  Me who have loved thee; seeing without sin done
  I am gone down to the empty weary house
  Where no flesh is nor beauty nor swift eyes
  Nor sound of mouth nor might of hands and feet,
  But thou, dear, hide my body with thy veil,
  And with thy raiment cover foot and head,
  And stretch thyself upon me and touch hands
  With hands and lips with lips:  be pitiful
  As thou art maiden perfect; let no man
  Defile me to despise me, saying, This man
  Died woman-wise, a woman’s offering, slain
  Through female fingers in his woof of life,
  Dishonourable; for thou hast honoured me. 
  And now for God’s sake kiss me once and twice
  And let me go; for the night gathers me,
  And in the night shall no man gather fruit.

  Atalanta.

  Hail thou:  but I with heavy face and feet
  Turn homeward and am gone out of thine eyes.

  Chorus.

  Who shall contend with his lords
  Or cross them or do them wrong? 
  Who shall bind them as with cords? 
  Who shall tame them as with song? 
  Who shall smite them as with swords? 
  For the hands of their kingdom are strong.