There in the grass she gently lay
Grazing her fingers through.
Alone the maid each passing day;
Her island no one knew.Therein beside the Springs of Brin,
The quiet waters soothe,
And wind moves to caress her skin,
tender, pale, and smooth.Above and around, surrounding her
Watchful giants’ arms;
Seemingly safe, seemingly secure
They never cause her harm.Sprawled there on unfounded ground,
Within her nature world,
Exposed but for the leaves around
Her slender body curled.Brought from the dust and nourished there,
She grew among the bloom,
This tiny speck, this breath of air,
As an ageratum.Around the grove a beach was spread,
Past such she could not see.
Could it have been the dark and dead –
A vast despairing sea?
