Though she bare ’neath her zone a God’s pure seed,
Yet the marriage-feast’s coming she would not abide;
Not she of the full-voiced song took heed,
Such song as the young girl-mates of the bride
Merrily chant in the eventide.
But she longed for a love that was otherwhere
With the passion that oft is the soul’s death-snare.
For a people foolish beyond compare
Is found among mortals, who scorn things near,
And gaze upon things that be far away,
And chase an ever-elusive prey
With hopes whose fulfilment shall never appear.