felt my breasts grow heavy with that food
That women laugh to feel and think it good;
But I went shamefast, hanging down my head,
With girdle all too strait to serve my stead,
And bore an unguessed burden in my blood.

"There was a winter night he came again
And shook the window, till cried out my pain
Unto him, saying, 'Lord, I dare not live!
Lord, I must die of that which thou didst give!
Pity me, Lord!' and fell. The winter rain

"Beat at the casement, burst it, and the wind
Filled all the room, and swept me white and blind
Into the night. I heard the sound of seas
Beleaguer earth, I heard the roaring trees
Singing together. We left them far behind.

"And so he bore me into stormy Thrace,
Me and my load, and kissed back to my face
The sweet new blood of youth, and to my limbs
The wine of life; and there I bore him twins,
Zethes and Calais, in a rock-bound place."

Oreithyia, by the North Wind carried
To stormy Thrace, think you of how you tarried
And let him woo and wed? "Ah, no, for now
He's kissed all Athens from my open brow.
I am the Wind's wife, wooed and won and married."

_1897._

CLYTIE

Hearken, O passers, what thing
Fortuned in Hellas. A maid,
Lissom and white as the roe,
Lived recess'd in a glade.
Clytie, Hamadryad,
She was called that I sing--
Flower so fair, so frail, that to bring her a woe,
Surely a pitiful thing!

A wild bright creature of trees,
Brooks, and the sun among leaves,
Clytie, grown to be maid:
Ah, she had eyes like the sea's
Iris of green and blue!
White as sea-foam her brows,
And her hair reedy and gold:
So she grew and waxt supple and fit to be spouse
In a king's palace of old.

All in a kirtle of green,
With her tangle of red-gold hair,
In the live heart of an oak,
Clytie, harbouring there,
Throned there as a queen,
Clytie wondering woke:
Ah, child, what set thee too high for thy sweet demesne,
And who ponder'd the doleful stroke?

For the child that was maiden grown,
The queen of the forest places,
Clytie, Hamadryad,
Tired of the joy she had,
And the kingdom that was her own;
And tired of the quick wood-races,
And joy of herself in the pool when she wonder'd down,
And tired of her budded graces.

And the child lookt