If you had been Demeter, Doso named In that fragrant country where she, grieving, cast Her lot with mortals, a little while the vast Wild anger of her heart entrapped and tamed By earth-made tasks; and I, Demophoon, famed That even for an hour she held him fast -- You could not more have striven to the last To give me life unsullied and unlamed. But when you held me in the potent fire, I felt it scorch and could not bear the smart; And not contented with ambrosial mead, Hungering for food, I satisfied desire. Now I must walk the low road through the mart And only glimpse, far up, the road I need. |