Narcissus was a vain youth, and loved no one but himself. One day, while looking into a quiet stream, he thought he saw a lovely naiad in the water gazing up at him.

He smiled upon her, and she also smiled. Day after day he came to the bank and begged the lovely naiad to come out of the water, and roam with him through the flowery meadows of earth. Every day he believed she would come; for she seemed to smile upon him and welcome him, even as he spoke and smiled upon her.

Some days, when the waters were dark and ruffled by the wind, he could not see her blue eyes and golden ringlets, and he thought she was vexed with him.

He never knew it was his own face he saw reflected in the water, and at last, after weary watching and waiting, he pined away and died. Echo and all the nymphs of the stream and of the grove mourned for him. He was beautiful even in death, for the gods had changed him into a flower. His pale face and golden hair were changed into the delicate narcissus, which delights us with its graceful form and rare fragrance.

The narcissus grows upon the margin of streams, and, bending over the waters, seems to admire its image mirrored there.