If aught of sense remains among the shades.
Oh, that the grizzly Clotho long ago,
With her own hand had clipt my thread of life!15
Through blinding tears I saw thy bleeding wounds,
Thy features sprinkled with defiling blood.
Oh, light of day, abhorrent to my eyes!
From that dread hour I hate the day's pure light20
More than the night's dark gloom; for daily now
Must I endure a cruel stepdame's rule,
Must daily bear her hateful looks and words.