A Shepherd Maiden

On shores of Sicily a shape of Greece!
Dear maid, what means this lonely communing
With winds and waves? What fancy, what caprice,
Has drawn thee from thy fellows? Do they fling
Rude jests at thee? Or seekest thou surcease
Of drowsy toil in noonday shepherding?
Enough: our questions cannot break thy peace;
Thou art a shade, — a long-entombed thing.
But still we see thy sun-lit face, O sweet,
Shining eternal where it shone of yore;
Still comes a vision of blue-veined feet
That stand forever on a pebbly shore;
While round, the tidal waters flow and fleet
And ripple, ripple, ripple, evermore.