But the image in the water returned no answer to his loving words, and did but mimic his every act and movement, till at last, in despair, he sat down by the water's edge and wept bitter tears of disappointed love.
And there he sat, day by day, till he grew pale and thin, and at last, like poor Echo, he pined away and died.
Then on the border of the lake, where his dead body lay, there sprang up clusters of golden blossoms. Daffodils we call them, but the gods called them "Narcissus," in memory of the loveless youth.
And beautiful they were to look upon; but there was something missing, for as Narcissus shed no love around his path through life, so the flowers which bear his name shed no fragrance upon the air.
THE WIND FLOWER
[THE WIND FLOWER]
"The coy Anemone, that ne'er uncloses
Her lips, until they're blown on by the wind."