Classic Poem

" H IPPOLITOS . "

Phaidra. Oh for a deep and dewy spring,
With runlets cold to draw and drink.
And a great meadow blossoming,
Long-grassed, and poplars in a ring,
To rest me by the brink!
Nurse . Nay, Child! Shall strangers hear this tone
So wild, and thoughts so fever-flown?
Phaidra . Oh, take me to the Mountain! Oh,
Past the great pines and thro the wood,
Up where the lean hounds softly go,
A-whine for wild things' blood,
And madly flies the dappled roe.
O God, to shout and speed them there,
An arrow by my chestnut hair
Drawn tight, and one keen glimmering spear —
Ah! if I could!
Nurse . What wouldst thou with them — fancies all —
Thy hunting and thy fountain brink?
What wouldst thou? By the city wall
Canst hear our own brook plash and fall
Down hill, if thou wouldst drink.
Phaidra . O Mistress of the Sea-lorn Mere
Where horse-hoofs beat the sand and sing,
O Artemis, that I were there
To tame Enetian steeds and steer
Swift chariots in the ring!
Nurse . Nay, mountainward but now thy hands
Yearned out, with craving for the chase;
And now toward the unseaswept sands
Thou roamest, where the coursers pace!
O wild young steed, what prophet knows
The power that holds thy curb and throws
Thy swift heart from its race?
Phaidra . What have I said? Woe 's me!