Low Mourned The Oread Round The Arcadian Hills; The Naiad Murmured And The Dryad Moaned; The Meadow-Maiden Left Her Daffodils To Join The Hamadryades Who Groaned Over A Sister Newly Fallen Dead. That Life Might Perish Out Of Arcady From Immemorial Times Was Never Said; Yet Here One Lay Dead By Her Dead Oak-Tree. "Who Made Our Hamadryad Cold And Mute?" The Others Cried In Sorrow And In Wonder. "I," Answered Death, Close By In Ashen Suit; "Yet Fear Not Me For This, Nor Start Asunder; Arcadian Life Shall Keep Its Ancient Zest Though I Be Here. My Name? - Is It Not Rest?"