6 
THE WORLD’S TRAGEDY. 
 
LYSANDER 
 
Ah !  but Erotion beckons me yonder ! 
Beautiful curls on her bosom that wander 
Tempt me to folly. 
 
HYLAS 
 
Indeed, let us press 
The exquisite doubt in a certain caress ! 
 
LYSANDER 
 
Even as the feet of the maid on the grapes — 
Crush the wine of delight from ambiguous shapes ! 
 
OLYMPAS 
 
Shrill, shrill the never-cloying 
Thirst of maid’s enthusiasm ! 
Atthis with her Doris toying 
In the moonlight filled with laughter, 
Wrestling, kissing — follow after 
To the summit of the spasm ! 
 
CHIRON 
 
Ho, shall we sit idle gazing 
On such beauty spirit-crazing ? 
No, my ladies, I’m the song !