Long, long ago, to such seclusion—
Filled with accusing shame and grieved confusion—
Life's noontide dark, its promise dead,
The youthful Daphnis fled.
Child of the God, ill could he brook
That curious eyes should gaping look
Upon the sightless face,
Where, deeply written, burned his deep disgrace.
Fearful of wrongs he could not see,
He brought his bruisèd heart to thee.
And thou with solemn stillness didst caress him.
Forbearing to afflict with comfort crude,
Mistimed advice or cheap solicitude,
Thou with thy mild tranquillity didst bless him.
Thou didst not proffer fond, unmeaning words;
But whisperings of leaves, and notes of birds,
And breathings of fresh flowers; things which stole
Through the unlighted chambers of his soul,
And made him—how, he knew not—less alone.
Like dreams that come where misery hath slept,
Recalling tender hopes and pleasures flown,
He welcomed them, and wept.
