Mournful of face and long, had ears for Artemis,
Nurse to all things aborning, as she mused:
“The young one when he comes—in what men call
The fall of their brief year—the roofless infant—
It was for him we planned. And still we do—”
She dared the glittering goddess—“still we seek
Safe birth for the small mother, and for him
The wailing, the unwanted.”
Crooked Hephaestus,
Clearing his mild throat, remarked in modesty: