THE STORY OF HYACINTH AND APOLLO

While the FACS class was cooking up some pancakes, (I HATE the smell of pancakes), I overheard some student conversation and had to stop and tell them the story of Prometheus; before that we'd gone over Narcissus. Tonight I was searching google for Poe stories, reading Rosetti's Goblin Market, and somehow ended up with this poem. I feel like my life has been a series of coincidences lately...and I am too lazy to write, and somehow I feel like I might be WRONG about a flower having a face....! I hate it when I'm wrong. Must look up crocuses now. ;(

THE CHILD, THE SUN, AND THE WIND

IT chanced upon a summer's day,
Within a deep wood far away,
There wandered forth a little child
Midst flowers and birds and breezes wild.
Now running here, now resting there,
As bright, as light, as free as air,
The happy little Hyacinth strayed,
From flower to flower, by sun and shade.

A wind called Zephyr saw him pass
With skipping feet across the grass,
And ran before and clung behind,
And strove his tripping feet to bind.

Because the Zephyr loved him so,
He would not let that fair child go,
But kept beseeching, "Stay, and be
A little playfellow to me!"

Still Hyacinth had naught to say,
Nor would he with the Zephyr stay,
But skipped aside and left the wind
Another playfellow to find.

And next the sun up in the air
Caught sight of Hyacinth's shining hair,
As Hyacinth ran the tall trees under,
And King Apollo paused in wonder.

"Stop! Hyacinth," cried King Apollo,
"You run too quick for me to follow;
One little minute wait for me,
And I your playfellow will be."

Because Apollo from the blue
Had fallen in love with Hyacinth too,
So down he came with smiling face
And stayed upon a mossy place.

There sun and child in merry play
Sported full many an hour away,
"Who can throw farthest, you or I?
This ring I'll cast, then you shall try."

But Zephyr, creeping round about,
Spied their pleasant pastime out,
Which made him angry feel and sore,
And he grew angrier more and more,

Until a cruel purpose grew,
And he determined what to do;
His wicked will at once consenting
Unto the crime of his inventing.

For as the King, in act to fling,
Raised high in air the iron ring,
Zephyr ran and took his stand
Just underneath Apollo's hand.

Thence blew the ring back swift and straight,
Steady and strong with all its weight,
So that it struck on Hyacinth's head,
And lo! the pretty child fell dead!

Then all about the leafy wood
There streamed out Hyacinth's purple blood,
Which wrote in letters sad and plain,
"Woe! Woe! for Hyacinth is slain!"

Back to the sky Apollo flew,
And far away the Zephyr blew;
But on the ground where Hyacinth died
Sweet flowers grew and multiplied.

Hyacinths that, with happy faces,
Still beautify earth's lonely places,
Loved by the sun and breezes wild,
In memory of the winsome child.