On a brown cloth outspread.

Ah see,

How carefully we lay them now,

Each hyacinth spray,

Across the marble floor—

A pattern your bent eyes

May trace and follow

To the shut bridal door.

Lady, our love, our dear,

Our bride most fair,

They grew among the hollows

Of the hills;

As if the sea had spilled its blue,

As if the sea had risen

From its bed,

And sinking to the level of the shore,

Left hyacinths on the floor.

[10]

There is a pause. Flute, pipe and wood-wind blend in a full, rich movement. There is no definite melody but full, powerful rhythm like soft but steady wind above forest trees. Into this, like rain, gradually creeps the note of strings.

As the strings grow stronger and finally dominate the whole, the bride-chorus passes before the curtain. There may be any number in this chorus. The figures—tall young women, clothed in long white 

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