The World’s Tragedy

THE GARDEN OF EROS. 5 The throb of thy throat to the flit of our feet ! Come, I have chosen thee. DORIS Follow me then Deep in the dance to the heart of the glen ! MARSYAS Ho ! you are rich, you are red, you are ripe ! Pace me your passions to plaint of my pipe ! OLYMPAS Nay, I am with thee, my master, to match Every my song to thy lyrical catch. EROTION Nay, let us follow you — all in a ring ! Wonder of wisdom and wit on the wing ! ANAXIMANDER Come, my Giton, of the hyacinth hair ! Apollo, Apollo ! indeed they are fair ! HYLAS Kiss me again, my Lysander, my love ! Listen ! Olympas is singing above.