These tears are hers: and seeing thee, my son,
Whose picture I have carried in my heart,
And year by year have checked and altered still
With vain imagination to thy growth
Since last I left thee fondled in her arms,
I learn how dear art thou. Now on thy brow
I’ll set this kiss. Begone and do my bidding.
The goddess calls me: I must take again
That shape which late thou saw’st me in. Farewell.
Forget not when I am changèd what I am.