Once was a girl who so long lying slept
Into the pastures, and the roots beneath,
Her hair extended and became one with them
In its way.

Her golden plumage shivered to a mane
That grew the stalks and limbs of flowers and trees,
And mired the rivers and oceans with its weeds,
And scantily drew the fire-tufts of the arctic.

Where now it lasts there nestles a bird, or fox,
And berries loom; yet, should Simone asleep
Be found, and stirred, by a single man awake
Shall not she cease to live in that man’s mind,
And grow her hair from him into his works?

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