ve, 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.

_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
tunics--follow one another closely, yet are all distinct like a
procession of a temple frieze._

_The bride in the center is not at first distinguishable from her
maidens; but as they begin their song, the maidens draw apart into two
groups, leaving the veiled symbolic figure standing alone in the
center._

_The two groups range themselves to right and left like officiating
priestesses. The veiled figure stands with her back against the curtain,
the others being in profile. Her head is swathed in folds of diaphanous
white, through which the features are visible, like the veiled Tanagra._

_When the song is finished, the group to the bride's left turns about;
also the bride, so that all face in one direction. In processional form
they pass out, the figure of the bride again merging, not
distinguishable from the maidens._

_Strophe_

But of her
Who can say if she is fair?
Bound with fillet,
Bound with myrtle
Underneath her flowing veil,
Only the soft length
(Beneath her dress)
Of saffron shoe is bright
As a great lily-heart
In its white loveliness.

_Antistrophe_

But of her
We can say that she is fair.
We bleached the fillet,
Brought the myrtle;
To us the task was set
Of knotting the fine threads of silk:
We fastened the veil,
And over the white foot
Drew on the painted shoe
Steeped in Illyrian crocus.

_Strophe_

But of her,
Who can say if she is fair?
For her head is covered over
With her mantle
White on white,
Snow on whiter amaranth,
Snow on hoar-frost,
Snow on snow,
Snow on whitest buds of myrrh.

_Antistrophe_

But of her,
We can say that she is fair;
For we know underneat