II

At the great water's edge
Golden Narcissus lies;
Hand propped under his chin;
Bees at his thighs;
His eyes fixed on nothing
Where his image lies.
O Echo, Echo.

Like the neck of a swan,
In the indifferent stream
The other hand trails;
Sleek as cream
Are his dimpled cheeks;
His plump mouth dreams.
O Echo, Echo.

The bruised flower of his mouth,
The honey-bee stings;
Rain in his small delicious ears,
Like a dragonfly sings
At noon; between his toes
The grasshopper springs.
O Echo, Echo.

Closes a blue-veined lid
On velvet eyes;
Falls the sleek hand; falls
The hand from the thighs;
From the brimming mirror dim,
The image flies.
O Echo, Echo.

In his great golden helmet
The small wren builds;
To the bee his rotten rich mouth
Sweet honey yields:
This proud young man like a stage
Once trod these fields.
O Echo, Echo.

For this is great Narcissus
Who moulders here;
Watercress grows from his eyes
And grass from his ears;
From his thigh a honey-sleek flower
At its image stares.
O Echo, Echo.