ft river-bed.

Beneath the rocks where ivy-frond
Puts forth new leaves to gleam beyond
Those lately dead:

The very smallest two or three
Of gold (gold pale as ivory)
We gathered.

_When the little girls have passed before the curtain, a wood-wind
weaves a richer note into the flute melody; then the two blend into one
song. But as the wood-wind grows in mellowness and richness, the flute
gradually dies away into a secondary theme and the wood-wind alone
evolves the melody of a new song._

_Two by two--like two sets of medallions with twin profiles distinct,
one head slightly higher, bent forward a little--the four figures of
four slight, rather fragile taller children, are outlined with sharp
white contour against the curtain._

_The hair is smooth against the heads, falling to the shoulders but
slightly waved against the nape of the neck. They are looking down, each
at a spray of winter-rose. The tunics fall to the knees in sharp marble
folds. They sing:_

Never more will the wind
Cherish you again,
Never more will the rain.

Never more
Shall we find you bright
In the snow and wind.

The snow is melted,
The snow is gone,
And you are flown:

Like a bird out of our hand,
Like a light out of our heart,
You are gone.

_As the wistful notes of the wood-wind gradually die away, there comes a
sudden, shrill, swift piping._

_Free and wild, like the wood-maidens of Artemis, is this last group of
four--very straight with heads tossed back. They sing in rich, free,
swift notes. They move swiftly before the curtain in contrast to the
slow, important pace of the first two groups. Their hair is loose and
rayed out like that of the sun-god. They are boyish in shape and
gesture. They carry hyacinths in baskets, strapped like quivers to their
backs. They reach to draw the flower sprays from the baskets, as the
Huntress her arrows._

_As they dart swiftly to and fro before the curtain, they are youth,
they are spring--they are the Chelidonia, their song is the swallow-song
of joy:_

Between the hollows
Of the little hills
The spring spills blue--
Turquoise, sapphire, lapis-lazuli
On a brown cloth outspread.

Ah see,
How carefully we lay them now,
Each hyacinth spray,
Across the marble floor--
A pattern your bent eyes
May trace and follow
To the shut bridal door.

Lady, our lo