"Before his gilded galliot ran naked vine-wreathed corybantes,
And lines of swaying elephants knelt down to draw his chariot."
Barbaric splendour and Eastern gorgeousness we have here and in one line the sense of immense wealth is conveyed—
"The meanest cup that touched his lips was fashioned from a chrysolite."
But now—
"The god is scattered here and there: deep hidden in the windy sand
I saw his giant granite hand still clenchèd in impotent despair."
And he bids her—
"Go seek the fragments on the moor and wash them in the evening dew,
And from their pieces make anew thy mutilated paramour."
With mocking irony he tells her to "wake mad passions in the senseless stone."
He counsels her to return to Egypt, her lovers are not dead—
"They will rise up and hear your voice
And clash their cymbals and rejoice and run to kiss your mouth!..."