At a nymph-haunted spring

 Golden Narcissus sighs;

Hand propped under his chin;

 Bees at his thighs;

His mind afloat on stillness

 Where his image lies.

  O Echo, Echo.


Like the neck of a swan

 In the indifferent stream

The other hand trails;

 Sleek as cream

Are his dimpled cheeks;

 His plump lips dream.

  O Echo, Echo.


The bruised flower of his mouth

 The honeybee stings;

Rain in his small delicious ears

 Like a dragonfly sings

At noon; between his toes

 The grasshopper springs.

  O Echo, Echo.


Closes a blue-veined lid

 Upon velvet eyes;

Falls the spent head; falls

 The hand from the thighs;

From the brimming mirror dim

 The image flies.

  O Echo, Echo.


And now Narcissus lies

 Beyond human cares;

Watercress sprouts from his eyes;

 Grass from his ears;

From his thighs a honey-sleek flower

 At its image stares.

  O Echo, Echo.


By Alistair Te Ariki Campbell