Come gaze on Procris, poor soon-perished child!
Why did her innocent virginity
Follow Desire within his arrowy wild?
She dies pursuing the cruel ecstasy
That keeps as mortal wounds for them that find.
Serene her pensive body lies at last
Like a mown poppy-flower to sleep resigned,
Softly resigned. The wildwood things aghast,
With pitiful hearts instinctive, sweet as hers,
Approach her now: love, death, and virgin grace,
Blue distance, and the stricken foresters,
And all the dreaming, healing, woodland place
Are patterned into tender melodies
Of lovely line and hue—a music of peace!