Why comes he not to meet me? It is the crown
Offends him—and my hands are too sleepy
To lift it off.
[Phœbe takes the crown off.
Who touch’d me then? I thank you.
[Rises, with outspread arms.
There—league on league of ever-shining shore
Beneath an ever-rising sun—I see him—
“Camma, Camma!” Sinnatus, Sinnatus!
[Dies.