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 ?