With useless endeavor, Forever, forever, Is Sisyphus rolling His stone up the mountain! Immersed in the fountain, Tantalus tastes not The water that wastes not! Through ages increasing The pangs that afflict him, With motion unceasing The wheel of Ixion Shall torture its victim!
VI
IN THE GARDEN
EPIMETHEUS. Yon snow-white cloud that sails sublime in ether Is but the sovereign Zeus, who like a swan Flies to fair-ankled Leda!
PANDORA. Or perchance Ixion's cloud, the shadowy shape of Hera, That bore the Centaurs.
EPIMETHEUS. The divine and human.
CHORUS OF BIRDS. Gently swaying to and fro, Rocked by all the winds that blow, Bright with sunshine from above Dark with shadow from below, Beak to beak and breast to breast In the cradle of their nest, Lie the fledglings of our love.
ECHO. Love! love!
EPIMETHEUS. Hark! listen! Hear how sweetly overhead The feathered flute-players pipe their songs of love, And echo answers, love and only love.
CHORUS OF BIRDS. Every flutter of the wing, Every note of song we sing, Every murmur, every tone, Is of love and love alone.