Her people fear it:

“The Queen,” they say,

“Grows day by day

Paler, but still gay—

As a spirit.”

Oh, they murmur, “Queen Dido goes away

To where the dark river runs, sunless and gray.”

A HYMN TO DIONYSUS IN SPRING

Yellow the sands of the shores of Elis, and over the creaming

Foam-flakes that flutter and curl on the edge of the dreaming