The World’s Tragedy

THE GARDEN OF EROS. 7 ATTHIS We can sing you ! DORIS Sweet and strong ! ANAXAGORAS Laughter, laughter ! I’m for thee, Doris of the blue-black tresses ! Mine are musical caresses Like the murmur of the sea. HYACINTHOS Chiron, shall we dance with these Under the acacia trees ? CHIRON Yes, if Rhodon there will lend us Her red fleece — like sunset glowing, With the doubtful venture showing Where — what God shall there befriend us ? RHODON Mocker ! I shall come. Beware Lest my manhood match you there !