Where the stars sleep in the calm black stream, Like some great lily, pale Narcissus floats, Reflected remorse! Slowly floats, wound in his veil like dream. — Half memory of the soul, halloos from distant throats.
Past thought over years has vain Narcissus gone Glimmering on the waters, a phantom fair; Many years his soft distracted song Has walked nourishing, answering evening air.
The wind kisses his breast and shakes His momentary space in time lying softly on the stream; The shivering willows sweep upon their cheeks; Across his dreaming brow the rushes lean.
The wrinkled water grasps immortality round his sigh And once he wakes a nest of sleeping things And hears the tiny sound of frightened wings; Mysterious music falls from starry sky.
O vain Narcissus, beautiful as snow and green! Yes, die, child, die this fleeting time, and drift away to sea! From the peaks of Argos cold wind blow And whispers low of bitter liberty;
For a breath that move your vanities beauty Brought strange sounds to your wandering thoughts; Your heart heard Nature singing everywhere, In the sighs of trees and the whispering of night.
For the voice of the beauteous thought, endless and immense, Breaks your young countenance, to human and to sweet; For on a crisp morning beguiled! Of pale, blushed cheeked lunatic, Sat wordless at the mouth of a stream gazing passed his feet!
Sky! Love! Liberty! What a dream, poor young Thing! You sink before me, snow before fire, My own great vision strangling my tongue, Infinity flaring in your blue eyes!
And the poet says that by starlight you came To pick the flowers of my heart I loved so much, at night, And he saw, wounds of vanity in your visage like dream, Like some great furtive illusion, Narcissus reach thy self, the dream.