deep blue, with edge of gold.

They sing to blending of wood-wind and harp.

From citron-bower be her bed,

Cut from branch of tree a-flower,

Fashioned for her maidenhead.

From Lydian apples, sweet of hue,

Cut the width of board and lathe.

Carve the feet from myrtle-wood.

Let the palings of her bed

Be quince and box-wood overlaid

With the scented bark of yew.

That all the wood in blossoming,

May calm her heart and cool her blood

For losing of her maidenhood.

The wood-winds become more rich and resonant. A tall youth crosses the stage as if seeking the bride door. The music becomes very rich, full of color.[13]

[13]

The figure itself is a flame, an exaggerated symbol; the hair a flame; the wings, deep red or purple, stand out against the curtains in a contrasting or almost clashing shade of purple. The tunic, again a rich purple or crimson, falls almost to the knees. The knees are bare; the sandals elaborately strapped over and over. The curtain seems a rich purple cloud, the figure, still brighter, like a flamboyant bird, half emerged in the sunset.

Love pauses just outside the bride's door with his gift, a tuft of black-purple cyclamen. He sings to the accompaniment of wood-winds, in a rich, resonant 

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