LITMIR.BIZ

       Per. Stay! stay! I have left my flowers.

       I follow.

      [Exeunt Athena and Artemis.

      [Persephone returning to right slowly.

      They understand not—Now, praise be to Zeus, 261

       That, tho' I sprang not from his head, I know

       Something that Pallas knows not.

      [She has come to where her basket lies. In stooping towards it she kneels to pluck a flower: and then comes to sit on a bank with the basket in hand on her knees, facing the audience.]

      Thou tiny flower!

       Art thou not wise?

       Who taught thee else, thou frail anemone,

       Thy starry notion, thy wind-wavering motion,

       Thy complex of chaste beauty, unimagin'd

       Till thou art seen?—And how so wisely, thou,

       Indifferent to the number of thy rays, 270

       While others are so strict? This six-leaved tulip,

      —He would not risk a seventh for all his worth—

       He thought to attain unique magnificence

       By sheer simplicity—a pointed oval

       Bare on a stalk erect: and yet, grown old

       He will his young idea quite abandon,{60}

       In his dishevel'd fury wantoning

       Beyond belief. … Some are four-leaved: this poppy

       Will have but four. He, like a hurried thief,

       Stuffs his rich silks into too small a bag—280

       I think he watch'd a summer-butterfly

       Creep out all crumpled from his winter-case,

       Trusting the sun to smooth his tender tissue

       And sleek the velvet of his painted wings:—

       And so doth he.—Between such different schemes,

       Such widely varied loveliness, how choose?

       Yet loving all, one should be most belov'd,

       Most intimately mine; to mortal men

       My emblem: tho' I never find in one

       The sum of all distinctions.—Rose were best: 290

       But she is passion's darling, and unkind

       To handle—set her by.—Choosing for odour,

       The violet were mine—men call her modest,

       Because she hides, and when in company

       Lacks manner and the assertive style of worth:—

       While this narcissus here scorns modesty,

       Will stand up what she is, tho' something prim:

       Her scent, a saturation of one tone,

       Like her plain symmetry, leaves nought to fancy:—

       Whereas this iris—she outvieth man's 300

       Excellent artistry; elaboration

       Confounded with simplicity, till none

       Can tell which sprang of which. Coud I but find

       A scented iris, I should be content:

       Yet men would call me proud: Iris is Pride.—

       To-day I'll favour thee, sweet violet;

       Thou canst live in my bosom. I'll not wrong thee

       Wearing thee in Olympus.—Help! help! Ay me!

      [Persephone rises to her feet, and amidst a contrivance of confused darkness Hades is seen rushing from behind. He seizes her and drags her backward. Her basket is thrown up and the flowers scattered.]

ACT II

       Table of Contents

      CHORUS.

      I (α)