WOE to thee, Œnone! stricken blindAnd poisoned by a darkness and a pain,O, woe to thee, none! who couldst findNo love when love lay dying, doubly slainSlain thus by thee, Œnone!Slain thus by thee, Œnone!O, what stain,Of red like this on hands of love was seenEver before or since, since love has been!O, woe to thee, Œone! Hadst thou said,"Sweet love, lost love, I know now why I liveAnd could not die, the days I wished me dead;O love, all strength of life and joy I giveThee back! Ah me, that I have dared to striveWith fates that bore me to this one sure bliss,Thou couldst not rob me, O lost love, of this?"—
Hadst thou said this, Œnone, though he wentBounding with life, thy life, and left thee thereDying and glad, such sudden pain had rentHis heart, that even beating in the fairWhite arms of Helen, hid in her sweet hair,It had made always moan, in strange unrest,"Œnone's love was greater love, was best."
["Paris, the son of Priam, was wounded by one of the poisoned arrows of Hercules that Philoctetes bore to the siege of Troy, whereupon he had himself borne up into Ida, that he might see the nymph Œnone, whom he once had loved, because she who knew many secret things alone could heal him; but when he had seen her and spoken with her, she would deal with the matter in no wise, whereupon Pans died of that hurt."]
ŒNONE.
"O, what stain,Of red like this on hands of love was seenEver before or since, since love has been!"
WOE to thee, Œnone! stricken blindAnd poisoned by a darkness and a pain,O, woe to thee, none! who couldst findNo love when love lay dying, doubly slainSlain thus by thee, Œnone!O, what stain,Of red like this on hands of love was seenEver before or since, since love has been!O, woe to thee, Œone! Hadst thou said, "Sweet love, lost love, I know now why I liveAnd could not die, the days I wished me dead;O love, all strength of life and joy I giveThee back! Ah me, that I have dared to striveWith fates that bore me to this one sure bliss,Thou couldst not rob me, O lost love, of this?"—
