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?