As on the hills the shepherds tread


    Οἴαν τὰν ὐάκινθον ἐν οὔρεσι ποίμενες ἄνδρες 
    πόσσι καταστείβοισι, χάμαι δέ τε πόρφυρον ἄνθος


    AS on the hills the shepherds tread  A hyacinth down, and withered 
         The purple flower 
    Is pressed to earth, and broken lies, 
    Its virgin stem no more to rise 
         In summer hour ; 
    And death comes stealing with the dew 
    That yester evening brought anew 
    A fresher growth and fragrant grace, 
    Ere footsteps crushed the grassy place : 

    So underneath thy scorn and pride 
    My heart is bowed, and cannot hide 
        How it despairs. 
    O Phaon, weary is my pain ; 
    The tears that from my eyelids rain 
        Ease not my cares ; 
    My beauty droops and fades away, 
    Just as a trampled blossom's may. 
    Why must thou tread me into earth— 
    So dim in death, so bright at birth ?