Which aye from morn till eve the naked sun
Pour’d on that plain, where never foot had run,
Nor any herb sprung on its molten sand.
19
Far off a gloomy mountain rose alone:
And Aphrodite, thither pointing, said
‘There lies thy task. Out of the topmost stone
Of yonder hill upwells a fountain head.
Take thou this goblet; brimming must thou bring
Its cup with water from that sacred spring,