The golden-headed maiden, the enchantress,
And laughter-loving idol of your hearts
Had in your empty thought her only being.
When ye have played with her, chosen her for queen,
And leader of your games, or when ye have sat
Rapt by the music of her voice, that sang
Heroic songs and histories of the gods,
Or at brisk morn, or long-delaying eve,
Have paced the shores of sunlight hand in hand,
’Twas but a robe ye held: ye were deceived;