As naught, to me in silence ministered,
That in this place she dies?[26]... (_To herself_) No
more; no more!
Why should I speak the shame of them, before
They come?... Little he knows, that hard-beset
Spirit, what deeps of woe await him yet;
Till all these tears of ours and harrowings
Of Troy, by his, shall be as golden things.
Ten years behind ten years athwart his way
Waiting: and home, lost and unfriended....

Nay:
Why should Odysseus' labours vex my breath?
On; hasten; guide me to the house of Death,
To lie beside my bridegroom!...

Thou Greek King,
Who deem'st thy fortune now so high a thing,
Thou dust of the earth, a lowlier bed I see,
In darkness, not in light, awaiting thee:
And with thee, with thee ... there, where yawneth
plain
A rift of the hills, raging with winter rain,
Dead ... and out-cast ... and naked.... It is I
Beside my bridegroom: and the wild beasts cry,
And ravin on God's chosen!

[_She clasps her hands to her brow and feels the
wreaths._