with the breathing of a dreamless sleeper, and her braided hair
glittering in a shaft of moonlight like a bird's wing.

Suddenly there comes from afar a vaguely fearful sound (it
might be the bellow of a Minotaur softened by great distance) and
Memnon's music stops. Silence: then a few faint high-ringing
trumpet notes. Then silence again. Then a man comes from
the south with stealing steps, ravished by the mystery of the
night, all wonder, and halts, lost in contemplation, opposite the
left flank of the Sphinx, whose bosom, with its burden, is hidden
from him by its massive shoulder.)

THE MAN. Hail, Sphinx: salutation from Julius Caesar! I have
wandered in many lands, seeking the lost regions from which my
birth into this world exiled me, and the company of creatures
such as I myself. I have found flocks and pastures, men and
cities, but no other Caesar, no air native to me, no man kindred
to me, none who can do my day's deed, and think my night's
thought. In the little world yonder, Sphinx, my place is as high
as yours in this great desert; only I wander, and you sit still;
I conquer, and you endure; I work and wonder, you watch and wait;
I look up and am dazzled, look down and am darkened, look round
and am puzzled, whilst your eyes never turn from looking out--out
of the world--to the lost region--the home from which we have
strayed. Sphinx, you and I, strangers to the race of men, are no
strangers to one another: have I not been conscious of you and of
this place since I was born? Rome is a madman's dream: this is my
Reality. These starry lamps of yours I have seen from afar in
Gaul, in Britain, in Spain, in Thessaly, signalling great secrets
to some eternal sentinel below, whose post I never could find.