Was gone.... Where she had passed, they knew,

For signs of it, however fleeting,

Were to be seen: from off a tree

Ripe fruit might vanish, grass might be

Left crushed and limp; that she'd been eating

Or drinking or else resting there

They could not help but be aware.

A cedar or a birch provided

The maid with shelter; on a bough

She'd perch and try to doze, but how

Could sleep come to a maiden blinded

By endless tears, her heart grief-torn!...

Against a tree trunk weakly leaning,

She might sigh wearily and yawn

And fall a prey to fitful dreaming....

But when the new-born light of day

Night's shadows drove away, and pearly

The skies turned, 'neath the fall's cool spray

She'd wash. The dwarf, one morning early,

Saw, upward forced by hands unseen,

The water play, then join the stream....

Till darkness had anew descended

And moonbeams the lone gardens combed,

Of spirit sore, by none attended,

Ludmila its far reaches roamed.

At times the echoes would be bringing

Her sweet voice closer, softly singing.

Threads from a Persian shawl, a leaf

Chewed through, a tear-stained handkerchief,

A garland by her quick hands made

Might be found lying in a glade.

His passion and frustration mounting.

All else save his piqued pride discountins