And bitter fact to Nero shall it be!
At Bauli now, still dripping from the sea,
She crouches snarling!
Nero
(In an outburst of joy.)
Oh, you shall not die,
My best-loved Anicetus! Though you lie,
Sweeter these words are than profoundest truth!
They breathe the fresh, white morning of my youth
Upon the lampless night that smothered me!