1. Stop, doe, among the meadows' hills,
Perhaps you might read the line of fate,

2. This is the house whose state
The winds and floods' flow changed.

3. I saw it not but in remoteness,
Save three or four ruins.

4. I weep for what, if it flowed openly
Before me, would bar my way.

5. So it stood, as if endowed
With some madness or chronic ill,

6. And it cast away a goblet
Circling the flexuous sands in eddies.

7. And it hid a tenderness for me
Inclining with a heavy lid.

8. When it was about to rouse itself,
Down upon it poured, like a slipping dune.

9. And when it had passed beyond the valley's edge
The doe saw it returning.

10. So she greeted it with a nod
And met Beauty with a lovely face.