Gladly the flowers will weave thee a mantle to wander unseen.
Slim as a willow-wand, Ariadne awaits thee, her lover,
And her heart is full of the dreams that are cool and green.”
“Hyé, the Dew, thy mother, sorrows because of thy going,
And the film-pale, rain-sweet Hyades fleeing and flowing,
Dissolved from the rainbow and river to rise in the sap of the tree,
Leave never their dolorous grieving, lamenting in quest of thee.
And the succulent vine and the spirit of all things growing
Cry ‘Dionysus, return! Oh, return from the sea!’”