Distorted Neros of a tortured sleep,
Cry “Mother, come to Baiae.” Deep on deep
The green death folds her and she can not come.
Vague, gaping mouths that hunger and are dumb
Mumble the tired heart so ripe with woe,
Where night is but a black wind breathing low
And daylight filters like a ghostly rain!
O Mother! Mother! Mother!—
(With arms extended, he stares seaward a moment, then covers his face, turns, and walks slowly toward entrance of villa.)
Vain, ‘tis vain!