Alone she sits in virgin bliss,
                        Alone, with twilight high above.
                        Hers is life without distress;
                        No troubling thoughts of labourèd love.
                        She sits here in the orchard green,
                        Her slumber with the darkness creeps;
                        More lovely than any queen
                        Or goddess. Trance-like here she sleeps
                        Alone: would that it were so!
                        But darkness has a thousand eyes
                        That with paltry, evil flow
                        Shroud themselves with silent lies.
                        O, what a wicked choice the Fates
                        Made for this one so young!-
                        In the shadows, Hecate waits
                        In jealous rage, these words she wrung
                        From the deepest Abyss of her soul:
                        "Wherefore in grace does such a one sleep;
                        Poor, innocent, insolent foal?
                        Before daylight comes, ye shall weep
                        A thousand tears for my disgrace!
                        Look down on her, ye gods of hate,
                        On she who earnèd my distaste!
                        No more she'll run with carefree gait
                        Among the flowers, through the trees;
                        Her fairness is forfeit here tonight!"
                        The leaves moved not in the magicked breeze
                        While blacker still became the night.
                        And Hecate with all her power
                        Determined, in her love of hate,
                        To desecrate this winsome flower;
                        Her own pride her aim to sate.
                        The girl awoke with screams of pain
                        Echoing from her ruby lips
                        Which, ne'ermore to be seen again,
                        Hide from laughter. O, what many ships
                        Would cast her form before
                        To watch for angels, guard from reefs;
                        But O, alas!- this is no more!
                        Because vain Hecate did decree:
                        "Would that it will not be so!"
                        The girl, in her distorted form,
                        Ran, with tears of anguish aflow,
                        Trusting the night and fearing the morn.
                        Thus she lived out many a year:
                        Alone in the forest, day after day;
                        Away from  people who would fear
                        The very sight of her: "Away!
                        Outcast! Unclean! Away from here-
                        Your kind is not welcome!" they said
                        She'd turn and she'd walk, aware of their leers;
                        Uncompromising, unafraid.
                        Hecate watched, but did not believe
                        How this girl suffered with never a sigh:
                        She never complained, she did not grieve.
                        "This girl is strong- much stronger than I!"
                        Hecate feared- the first in her life-
                        This girl whose beauty never strayed.
                        She lived and loved devoid of strife
                        In a world that she, herself, had made.
                        The girl is average; in her mind
                        No mark of beauty e'er touched her face!
                        By some standards she might be blind,
                        But she sees more than the whole human race.