I am the child of the old age of my father,
A strict and loving man, herder of sheep,
Who reared me kindly with my younger brothers
The lambs. Milk white and mild we wandered, keeping
Our ways without sin. Ram and ewe and wether
And girl together nurtured, we grew up.
In the spring of my tenth year I found the skin
Of a serpent by the fold where he had sloughed it.
Close by, the sluggish body lay coiled in the sun,
Scales gyred, glistening like flies. As I watched it,
It writhed, unwinding in supple curves, and spun
Within reach of myh hand, undulating. I touched it.
Then I hit at it with a stick and I was not afraid
As it twisted close. I whipped it over and over,
Unable to cease from striking until it died.
My father whipped me then--before, never.
The same day brought my change, the flow of moon blood.
To siin, to be whipped, to be woman fed the one fever.
I kept the sloughed skin as a kind of talisman
To help me atone in memory for the day
My guilt began, in private crying often
With remorse. But a strange thing: though I knew and could try
To keep from wrongt doing, I desired it now. Sin
Like my own blood ran in me, secret and high.
Yet delicately virgin still I kept turning away
At the dangerous verge of evil. I suppose I thought
All along that if I were good enough, one day
I would somehow earn or deserve some prize, but what
I could not say. Till I saw the Prince, and could say.
I would enter the castle a prince's bride. But not yet.
I grew in virtue now. I know what it was for.
I thought to become like a queen and live wholly free
From fault. This humor did not please my father.
"Easy, my girl," he said, as if he could see,
Tight coiled and twisted to spring, the sin in the center
Spitting its venom little by little into me.
But down at the heart of my dreaming days the son
Of the king was seeking a maiden devoted as I,
An innocent, supple and pure, while I for a man
Like a prince waited apart and did not try
To win the shepherd boys, for I had a plan:
When I was seventeen the Prince came by.
Then I hit at it with a stick and I was not afraid
As it twisted close, I whipped it over and over,
Unable to cease from striking, until it died.
My father whipped me then--before, never.
The same day brought my change, the flow of moon blood.
To sin, to be whipped, to be woman fed the one fever.
I kept the sloughed skin as a kind of talisman
To help me atone in memory for the day
My guilt began, in private crying often
With remorse. But a strange thing: though I knew and could try
To keep from wrong doing, I desired it now. Sin
Like my own blood ran in me, secret and high.
Yet delicately virgin still I kept turning away
At the dangerous verge of evil. I suppose I thought
All along that if I were good enough, one day
I would somehow earn or deserve some prize, but what
I could not say. Till I saw the Prince, and could say,
I would enter the castle a prince's bride. But not yet.
"He will not come back. And if he does, you must say
That he may not again, until he is seeking a bride"
"And so he is. But I will send him away."
Later I told the questing, Prince. "Good maid,
If you promise to come when I seek a bride, I'll obey
your father, "With kisses again I gave my word.
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