Devoured in silence, as stealthy serpents writhe
Their folds about their prey; and seemed to hear
The passing of some irrevocable year,
And faint for whistle of a monstrous scythe.
VII
Pain of widest range—
The intimate grown strange.
ARMA VIRUMQUE CANO
And so the good Aeneas went away.
It was not dawn, and yet the sleepless sea