These then he hung her senseless neck around, Set on her fingers, and fair arms of stone, Then cast himself before her on the ground, Praying for grace for all that he had done In leaving her untended and alone; And still with every hour his madness grew Though all his folly in his heart he knew.
At last asleep before her feet he lay, Worn out with passion, yet this burning pain Returned on him, when with the light of day He woke and wept before her feet again; Then of the fresh and new-born morning fain, Into his garden passed, and therefrom bore New spoil of flowers his love to lay before.
A little altar, with fine gold o'erlaid, Was in his house, that he a while ago At some great man's command had deftly made, And this he now must take and set below Her well-wrought feet, and there must red flame glow About sweet wood, and he must send her thence The odour of Arabian frankincense.
Then as the smoke went up, he prayed and said, "Thou, image, hear'st me not, nor wilt thou speak, But I perchance shall know when I am dead, If this has been some goddess' sport, to seek A wretch, and in his heart infirm and weak To set her glorious image, so that he, Loving the form of immortality,
"May make much laughter for the gods above: Hear me, and if my love misliketh thee Then take my life away, for I will love Till death unfeared at last shall come to me, And give me rest, if he of might may be To slay the love of that which cannot die, The heavenly beauty that can ne'er pass by."
No word indeed the moveless image said, But with the sweet grave eyes his hands had wrought Still gazed down on his bowed imploring head, Yet his own words some solace to him brought, Gilding the net wherein his soul was caught With something like to hope, and all that day Some tender words he ever found to say;
And still he felt as something heard him speak; Sometimes he praised her beauty, and sometimes Reproached her in a feeble voice and weak, And at the last drew forth a book of rhymes, Wherein were writ the tales of many climes, And read aloud the sweetness hid therein Of lovers' sorrows and their tangled sin.
And when the sun went down, the frankincense Again upon the altar-flame he cast That through the open window floating thence O'er the fresh odours of the garden passed; And so another day was gone at last, And he no more his love-lorn watch could keep, But now for utter weariness must sleep.