h
All the wanness,
All the heat
(In her blanched face)
Of desire
Is caught in her eyes as fire
In the dark center leaf
Of the white Syrian iris.

_The rather hard, hieratic precision of the music--its stately pause and
beat--is broken now into irregular lilt and rhythm of strings._

_Four tall young women, very young matrons, enter in a group. They stand
clear and fair, but this little group entirely lacks the austere
precision of the procession of maidens just preceding them. They pause
in the center of the stage; turn, one three-quarter, two in profile and
the fourth full face; they stand, turned as if confiding in each other
like a Tanagra group._

_They sing lightly, their flower trays under their arms._

Along the yellow sand
Above the rocks
The laurel-bushes stand.
Against the shimmering heat
Each separate leaf
Is bright and cold,
And through the bronze
Of shining bark and wood
Run the fine threads of gold.

Here in our wicker-trays,
We bring the first faint blossoming
Of fragrant bays:

Lady, their blushes shine
As faint in hue
As when through petals
Of a laurel-rose
The sun shines through,
And throws a purple shadow
On a marble vase.

(Ah, love,
So her fair breasts will shine
With the faint shadow above.)

_The harp chords become again more regular in simple definite rhythm.
The music is not so intense as the bride-chorus; and quieter, more
sedate, than the notes preceding the entrance of the last group._

_Five or six slightly older serene young women enter in processional
form; each holding before her, with precise bending of arms, coverlets
and linen, carefully folded, as if for the bride couch. The garments are
purple, scarlet and 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 bec