Shall steal thro’ all my veins, as I have said.
So back! Stand back,—or if it must be, then
Locked desperately arm in arm with me
You shall go down, down to this crawling Deep!
(She approaches him with open arms, but he draws back from her in fear.)
Phaon
Madness throbs thro’ her, and I fear this mood.
Sappho
The waves are softer with their dead, and winds
More kindly are with leaves in winter than